Where she stood in the imperial vault, the dull lighting gave Celica a ghostly appearance. Her pale skin and dress seemed blue in color, her hair purple. Her eyes had a glow, beyond what Alm had always seen in them; rather a pinkish radiance he had come to know too well.
"Alm," she said, her voice somehow untainted by Duma's influence. "Please listen to reason. This is the only way."
Alm's marked hand twitched, and he squeezed it into a fist. In all of his life, nothing had angered him like seeing Celica do Jedah's bidding, blinded by her best intentions. He had a second-long fantasy of killing the damned priest and all of his cult, cutting them down one-by-one as they begged for mercy. Then he pushed it from his mind, and focused.
"Of course it isn't! That dastard Jedah's controlling you, Celica! Can't you see? There's always another way, one without gods. Come with me now and we can create it together."
Celica looked him over, for a second, as if to appraise the idea, then looked down at his feet. "Alm, you… we…." She composed herself. "I can't let you do this to Valentia. I don't want to hurt you, or anyone else. Please - please , Alm - stand down."
"Never. He's gone mad with his power, Celica. Have you listened to a thing he's said?"
"That doesn't matter! Alm, without the gods we are lost. There's nothing left. No life, no meaning, nothing to live for, let alone any way to live."
"We'll have each other. Not just us . Everyone, all of the people in the world."
"Alm… you could never understand." Celica said, shaking her head.
She drew her blade, and Alm knew the time for words had ended.
The Kingsfang plunged through Celica's stomach, its glowing light emerging out through her back. Alm shoved her off the blade and followed immediately with a second blow that tore into her upper chest, just under her collar. She stumbled back for a second, then regained her balance and stood still and confused for a second, as blood began to darken her dress. Then her sword clattered to the stone floor, and she followed it down.
The rush that came over Alm in combat began to subside, and the girl who lay choking on her blood became Celica again. The hint of satisfaction at winning yet another fight died, so quickly. She looked up at him from the ground, lying on her back in a pool of growing black liquid, and coughed something, breaking his stupor.
"Celica!" he screamed, dropping to the ground at her side and pulling her small form onto his lap, eliciting a faint, pained squeak from her. "H-hold on, Celica, just breathe, I'll stop the bleeding, then get you out of-"
"No," she coughed, spitting blood up onto his face, into his mouth. "No… there's no use…"
"Shut up," Alm hissed. He dropped his gauntlets, then tore her dress open down the collar, to get a better look at her wound. He had cut straight through the material, and then deep into her flesh and ribcage just above and right of her sternum. He stuffed his hand into the gash as best as he could to stop the bleeding, feeling broken bone and torn muscle coated in slippery blood, and Celica screamed out in pain, sharper than before, and sobbed, shaking and trying to push his hand away.
His resolve melted, and he knew he could do nothing. He covered her back up with what remained of her ruined dress, and pulled her into his chest, her soft body limp in his arms.
Upright, she could get a breath in, even as blood flowed out of her and ran down under Alm's armor plates, into his clothes beneath.
"Celica, can-can I make you more comfortable? What can I-"
"Just this," she mumbled, leaning her head on his breastplate.
"Please, Celica, you have to… you can't let it end like this. This was never meant to happen, it's a mistake, it's… I'm sorry, I-I always loved you. Please…"
She choked again, them whispered something.
"What was that?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Please, don't, Celica, you've got nothing to-"
"I'm sorry I failed."
Then she was gone, leaving Alm with her broken body and covered in cooling blood.
Alm killed Duma, but didn't remember it.
He did not kill Jedah, who, in the end, abandoned the War Father.
When he returned to the vault, Celica's body was gone, leaving just a dark pool of cold blood drying into the floor.
Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf II was crowned after a month of mourning for the war's dead, alongside his brother king, Conrad VIII of Zofia. Together, they paid their respects to the hero Princess Anthiese, slain by one of the mad god Duma's abominations.
They shared a coronation. Zofian knights handed the crown of Rigel to Alm; Rigelian generals mirrored the act for Conrad. Together, they promised a new era of peace, order, and just rule, working alongside one another for the good of all of Valentia.
Conrad took his progress south, to mend the wounds of a land ravaged by war.
Alm marched north to make it upon an old enemy.
Alm's demands were threefold, and simple.
Firstly, the Faithful were to acknowledge Duma as corrupted and then slain, and cease preaching in His name.
Secondly, they were to dismantle all shrines, icons, and idols of Duma, to the satisfaction of imperial inspectors, handing over all movable wealth to the Empire.
Finally, they were to disband unconditionally, destroy all remaining witches, and present all of their senior leadership to authorities at the capital to stand trial for high treason against the Rigelian Empire.
They complied to none.
In his first act as Emperor, Alm declared them rebels, and their lives and property forfeit. He could not deny the satisfaction in scrawling his loopy new signature, Albein Alm Rudolf II, at the bottom of the writ of attainder.
Early Spring, 402 VC
"Emperor Albein, sir. It would be wrong of me to doubt your military acumen, but I find this course of action… highly inadvisable."
Alm, with General Magnus, fifteen knights, and a mage, walked up to the temple's open entrance. Alm was armored, but left his helmet to hang off its breastplate strap, secured next to the Kingsfang on his swordbelt. The real fighting was already finished, the Rigelian army now clearing the remainder of the fortress and taking up positions surrounding the temple, which lay at the complex's center, disconnected from the had spent a month mining the outermost of three curtain walls to collapse, and then in one day had stormed through it and the remaining two, bringing the revolt of the Faithful to a bloody and decisive end. But Alm hadn't yet fought, and felt he had lost enough men for the day.
"It's just 'Alm', Magnus. And I know what I'm doing."
" Alm ," Magnus said, pronouncing the name like a word not to be said in polite company, "your safety is paramount. The men do not doubt your strength, and you've no reason to risk yourself unnecessarily."
Alm chuckled. "You don't have to tiptoe around it. If I'm being an idiot, tell me."
"The army despises the Faithful. They would love the opportunity to finish them off," Magnus offered, trying another line of reasoning.
"Well, so do I. And besides, if we get killed, they get their chance. Let's do this."
It was spring in Rigel, but that had little bearing on the weather, and as soon as Alm's punitive campaign against the Faith began, it was beset by freezing weather, howling winds, and sleet that melted into one's clothes and froze to the bone. Alm had never been much bothered by the cold before, but he had thought he would freeze to death even in the relative luxury of his emperor's tent.
To the Rigelian army, such weather was a mere fact of life, and after two months and the sacking of three of the Faith's fortress-temples, it became one to Alm. But even with his acclimatization, the interior of the Faith's seat had a chill that Alm had no frame of reference for. Even Magnus gave an involuntary shiver. Alm briefly considered 'offering' to carry one of the torches, before thinking better of it, despite his envy for Sir Emma, who carried the precious fire nearest to him. The halls were dim, illuminated by a low blue light that brought up bad memories. Between it and the cold, Alm was in a foul enough mood when the tunnel opened up to a steep staircase with an arch over a thin metal gate at the base.
In blunt, harsh lettering, it read, 'ONLY THE WAR FATHER'S CHOSEN MAY PASS'.
"I'll go on ahead, alone," Alm said.
"Sir, please see reason-"
"I don't mean any offense, but I've got a feeling you won't have much luck with the door. And, Sir Emma, pass me that torch."
The warmth was less than Alm had hoped for, but it was something . He approached the gate, and it swung open before him. He turned back to Magnus and his guard. "Kill anyone who tries to leave, other than me. And if I'm not back by the time your torches are dimming, get out of here and tear down the temple. Don't freeze to death waiting."
"Once more, A-alm -"
"Noted, Magnus. I promise I'll listen to you one day."
That's not a lie, at least , Alm thought, as he turned and began up the stairs. A few steps up the staircase he heard the gate slam shut with a sharp ring, like glass shattering. He clutched the torch close and kept walking, glad that the floor and walls were free of ice, though the cold had long since crept in through his leather boots regardless. His hobnails scraped on the stone floor, the noise marking every winding stair, until he at last reached the top.
Alm emerged into a room half the size of a tennis court, and realized that had been wrong in thinking the air couldn't get any colder than the temple halls - each breath felt like a cut in his lungs, growing bit-by-bit with each inhalation. And, on thirteen thrones arranged in a U-shape, sat the highest churchmen in the Faithful - barring Jedah himself - oblivious to the cold. The men and women wore thin red robes with black trim, leaving arms and chests exposed to the air. All were staring at Alm from the second he entered the room.
As if not speaking through her mouth, but rather from everywhere in the room at once, the woman in the center throne, directly across from Alm and in the middle of the U-shape, began.
"Albein Godslayer."
After just hearing the name and epithet, one of the nearest Faith Councillors, to Alm's immediate left, lost his nerve, and jumped down from his seat and bolted to the staircase so fast Alm fancied he saw a blue streak of light left in the man's wake. He didn't bother stopping him.
"My name is Alm."
" Such distinctions are meaningless," she said. Then, " If you come for our surrender, know you shall never receive it. We are the Faithful of the War Father, and would not do him such a disgrace."
"I know. I didn't come here to take prisoners."
As the sentence ended, Alm heard shouting, then a single scream. Magnus' men have done their job, it seems . He grinned.
"But I do have questions."
The room echoed with the High Faithful's laughter; it was sharp and grating, like the feel of broken glass scraping against his teeth. "And for what reason would we answer them?"
"I don't particularly care. It's the least you could do, after your cult nearly destroyed all of Valentia. Where's Jedah? This mess is his fault. I don't think you could be on friendly terms."
"You would be correct. But if we knew the location and plans of our prior High Faithful, we would have taken actions ourselves. "
"Nothing?"
"You, of all, should be in the best place to know his whereabouts. You were the last to see Him, the day you butchered our god. Does it fill you with pride?"
Alm saw no reason not to be honest with dead men. "I hardly remember anything from that day, and can't recall slaying Duma. I remember nothing good from that day."
"That is little surprise. Proximity with the gods warps the mind, the soul, even the body. To a being as insignificant as a human it can overwhelm the senses. Truly, we who have been in His presence are a blessed few."
Alm frowned. "I'd never call it a blessing. Duma, Jedah, and the rest of you have proved yourselves to be a blight on all of the world."
"We are agreed in one aspect. Jedah led us all to ruin."
"So we are."
Alm stared at the High Faithful for a few seconds, utterly still in her throne and flanked by her eleven remaining Councillors. None spoke.
"I think we're done here," he said.
"So be it. Albein Godslayer - on your guard." she said, rising to her feet and letting her cloak fall away, baring her painfully thin blue flesh. The others rose a second later in one uniform motion.
"In the name of the War Father!" she cried.
"DUMA! DUMA! DUMA!" they called out as one.
A uniform light emanated from their eyes, before red beams sprouted from each of their temples, connecting all the clerics in the chamber, channeling their power together around the High Faithful. She screamed, and shakily extended her hands forward towards Alm.
He threw aside his torch and dropped into a fighting stance, drawing the Kingsfang from its sheath at his right, and held it out to his front just as the High Faithful shot a beam of white-red magic directly at him. It connected with the Kingsfang's eye, and neutralized, the sword coming to glow the same color as the magic energy filling the room. Alm slid back across the floor, just slowly at first, then faster as the beam grew in power, and he leaned forward into it as much as he could manage, holding the sword as firmly as he could with his left hand under the crossguard, his right on the blade's flat halfway up.
The power reached its apex and stopped growing in power - Alm's slide halted - and he gritted his teeth, focussing on his mark, which began to glow even through his steel gauntlet. The assault from the Faithful began to slow, and Alm knew it was his turn.
" DIE !" he screamed, taking a step into the energy and thrusting his arms forward as hard as he could manage.
The priest to Alm's immediate right, whose partner had run off when Alm entered, began to scream, shaking as the magic overloaded, glowing brighter and brighter until the light from his eyes consumed his head, then exploded, his brain matter blasting his skull open and shooting out of his eyes and ears, his body slumping to the floor aflame.
Then, after three seconds, the next two closest to Alm followed their compatriot's fate, then the next two after that after just a short moment later. They exploded in pairs with accelerating pace, the beam weakening every time, until just the High Faithful opposed Alm. She threw all her power into the spell, and shone with enough light to drown out all the others, her entire skeleton coming to glow pure white through her skin before she, finally, burst apart, sending bone shards whistling off in every direction.
The spell died with her, and the room returned to silence, though the heat took longer to dissipate. After weeks in the freezing Rigelian cold, the change was lovely, and Alm shut his eyes for a moment.
It was like he was back in Ram; fighting with Gray, loosing arrows at a fence with Tobin, lighting his fingers on fire with Kliff, running in the fields with Celica - or running into the forest, to escape Faye. Back then, life was warm. Never perfect, but he always had Mycen and his friends.
Then Alm opened his eyes, and returned to the cold world where Celica was a half year dead, only the gods could tell where Mycen was, the rest were a thousand miles away, and he was surrounded by exploded bodies, coated with chunks of their bone and brain. He held up the Kingsfang, now returning to its normal silver shine, and looked at his reflection in its smooth surface. It lent him a red glow, but his features were clear. He looked so old - bags were forming under his eyes, grey was creeping into his hair from the temples, and his beard made him look more haggard than hardened. The cold air crept back in on him again, and he lowered the blade.
At the head of the High Faithful's throne, there was an idol of Duma standing, built off the top of the seat. Alm approached it. Its body was unmistakably gold, though painted red to match the dragon's scales from a time before He was a rot-covered husk, and with three rubies on its head to represent His eyes. The dragon stood on its back legs, its wings back and its front-facing tentacles extended out, in rampant pose.
Alm sheathed the Kingsfang, then wound up, and punched the idol at its base, smashing the wood supporting it into splinters and throwing Duma to the ground with an echoing clang. Alm shook the pain out of his fist, then picked the statue up.
With his prize, he turned, and left the way he came.
A detachment of soldiers, mostly clerics and healers, crowded around the temple's entrance, awaiting any injured from Alm's excursion. Alm had been wounded plenty of times, but never had much trouble getting back on his feet and healing up on his own. The surgeons - and particularly the healers - attending him were overly fussy, and even a tad eager, and here they slunk away seeing the party unscathed, if frigid, and in Alm's case, splattered in Faithful.
An aide stood just beyond them. "My lord, your Companion-General Ezekiel has set up his staff in a room nearby. He invites you to come join him."
"Excellent," Alm said. "Lead the way."
The central temple was, unusually, disconnected from the walls. More conventionally, the citadel itself lay at the northern corner of the innermost layer of fortifications, and had been the last section of the fortress to fall; in the wake of the breaching of the outermost wall, General Ezekiel had led a lightning attack that captured the next two. The defenders were caught at prayer, unprepared, and out of position, and were mopped up by the Rigelian army that poured through the breached defenses. The Faithful troops and hired mercenaries had been, or were being, put to the sword, and the citadel itself was clear and secured.
Alm had expected, even hoped for, more of a fight. The ease of it felt almost emptying.
The aide led them inside of the citadel through one of the propped-open gates, and a short way to a sort of meeting room warmed by its large, crackling fire pit. General Ezekiel stood waiting by a cleared table with his assistants - a few scribes, advisors, a mage - but more enticingly to Alm, a deep bowl of mulled wine suspended by a metal frame, kept hot by Zeke's mage. One of the assistants scooped out a cup's worth for him and handed it over, burning hot. Alm put the mulled wine to his lips immediately, taking a pleasant, long drink of it.
Once of the aides gave Alm a funny look, but said nothing. The server made sure Alm's guard all got a cup, then Alm dismissed them, leaving just Magnus and Zeke with him.
"What's the situation in the fortress?" Alm asked Zeke.
"We've secured all of the gates, and most of the wall. The Faithful fight on, but only in a handful of isolated pockets, all of which are encircled by the army. They seem inclined to go down fighting rather than yield, and our men see little distinction regardless."
"Neither do I," Alm said. "They chose to fight."
"Understood. What do you wish done with those left alive? We could return them to the capital and make an example of them." Zeke suggested.
"Yeah, that's what I had been thinking. Magnus, can you send that order out? Send some men to round up whoever they find surrendering. Twenty or so should do it," Alm said. Magnus stood by the door, implacable as ever, though unaware of the chunk of ice in his left sideburn.
"Of course, my lord Alm."
"Thank you, Magnus."
The general saluted and left, barking orders out to men gathered outside the citadel.
Alm refilled his cup and took another sip of wine. It was still good, though he missed the heat's bite.
"How are you, Alm?" Zeke asked.
Alm sat down into one of the chairs and stretched out a bit, though his armor stopped him from getting too comfortable. He eyed the idol of Duma where he'd dropped it on the table. "It's been a good day, Zeke."
"The High Faithful…?" Zeke prompted.
"I killed her. And the rest of the Council, minus the one Magnus got. No wonder I'm so cheery."
"Your father would be proud of you, Alm."
"I'd rather he be here," Alm said. "Ahh... sorry. Keep going."
Zeke didn't show any reaction. "He also began his reign with victory, against the Arthegnii barbarians of the east. This was before my arrival in Valentia, the last campaign beginning a year before your birth."
"I know - Mycen taught me a bit about the Arthegnii wars. I guess it's little wonder why. I always knew Rudolf was a great general. The barbarians invaded in the empire's time of weakness at the end of Rigel III's reign, when the emperor was bedridden with illness and the army was left paralyzed. When Rudolf was crowned he drove the Artheugenii out and brought peace back to Rigel."
"That much is true, but it was far from an easy affair. Rudolf fought for half a decade to fully clear the empire of them, before launching his own punitive expeditions into the eastern Deadlands against their lands."
"I know all of this, Zeke. He defeated them in battle, struck down their king in single combat."
"What I mean to stress, Alm, is that it their depredations turned half of Rigel into a wasteland, and it took years of brutal warfare to bring a just peace. In Rudolf's final campaign he cleared the Deadlands of Arthegnii villages for a hundred miles into the swamps, and brought back thousands of their skulls to the capital. Not a single one of them has set foot in Rigel since. What we have done here today, and in the previous months, has been a good first step. But you must always remember - what your father always knew - is that there can be no true peace without strength."
"How brutal did the war grow? We've always tried to avoid hurting the innocent, but there were always… excesses."
"I did not see it with my own eyes. But what I've heard… thousands dragged off in chains. Sacrifices to Duma left crucified by the roads, their skins peeled off and entrails hanging from their stomachs. The people were left to die as the empire's generals faced off, fearing civil war in the wake of the emperor's death. Your father's quick action saved the people a great deal of suffering when he marched his troops into the capital and declared himself emperor."
"I thought he was chosen to be emperor, for being able to wield the Kingsfang."
"That was the official story. Alm, the truth of it is that your father was accepted because he proved himself to be strong in the time of crisis. The Kingsfang was a help, but it is not the entire picture. Your own position will depend upon your ability to continue your father's mandate. The destruction of the Faithful is a good first step… but it is just that. A first step."
The things Mycen never said.
"Thank you Zeke. I won't forget this… and I think you're right. Jedah remains unaccounted for, and I cannot imagine what his plans are. We can't be sure when the sun's light and the land's fertility will return. I don't think we've seen the end of our troubles. We may never escape them at all."
"The past… it is what it is. It can never be escaped, or changed. Only accepted, so that the future may be shaped."
Alm nodded in agreement, and finished his cup. They lounged for a few minutes, in anticipation for new reports to come in, when someone knocked at the door.
"My lord Albein, a group of soldiers desire your attention," called one of Alm's guards.
"Open the door, let their leader in."
The door swung open with a gust of chilled air, and through stepped a tall woman in a sergeant's armor, her helmet carried under-arm. She knelt low before Alm and Zeke.
"No need for that. Rise, tell me what you wish to say," Alm said.
"Thank you, sir. A group of men from our detachment found the castle's main statue of the Fell God, rigged it up with demolition ropes. We thought you may want to come watch."
"I'd love to, sergeant. Lead the way."
The air had cooled even further by the time of their walk, with freezing winds whistling through the fortress' open passages and flapping Alm's red cloak wildly about behind him until he just grabbed ahold of it and pulled the thing tighter around himself. Alm and his guard passed through the mopping-up operations, of men looting the cult's movable gold, and splitting up prisoners; most were lined up in front of ditches and shot with crossbows, the unlucky were put in chains to receive their justice at the capital. In one cleared stable there were tents thrown up and fires burning to give shelter to the Rigelian wounded as they received aid. Alm stopped.
The scene was a mess. Wounded soldiers were laying in rows, some on the ground, the lucky on mats or hay set in place, with the entire area reeking of blood, feces, and urine. Men were screaming or groaning in pain, or just lying silently, too dazed and weak to make noise as their lives slipped away. Surgeons and clerics fought desperately to provide aid, and were at work cleaning wounds to save injured limbs - and if not, amputating - or bandaging lighter cuts and burns, doing all they could.
Alm spotted a man in the far right corner, lying face-up on a block of hay, moving little. Surgeons walked straight past him when switching patients, paying him no mind. Alm walked to one and grabbed her by her bloodsoaked gown as she made to pass him.
"That man, there,' he said while pointing him out, "why isn't he receiving aid?"
"Go see," she spat, tugging free and going to hold a man down as another surgeon sawed off his hand, smashed by a hammer's blow.
Alm walked to the back, by the man. He was a sergeant, marked by his coat and the discarded armor laid by his hay bed. As soon as Alm got a good look of the man, he understood why he was left unattended. Two arrows were embedded in his left leg, and a fireball had struck his left shoulder, the heat nearly burning the left side of his body away. His left arm was burned black, his face - once pretty, with an appealing sharpness to his features - scorched down to the bone on the left side. But as Alm stepped close, the man snapped to awareness and stared Alm in the eye, his remaining right eye a striking green. Alm knelt down by his side, and took the man's good hand.
"What's your name, sergeant?"
"A-al-" he wheezed, "-Albein, parents named me, named me after the emperor."
"Where are you from? I wish to tell your family you fought valiantly."
"The east… I'm all that's left. The Faithful abducted them, sacrificed my parents, my wife… must have made a witch of her. Always good with a spell..."
"I understand," Alm said.
Albein eyed the Kingsfang, and looked over the bloody patches on Alm's black plate armor. "Did you kill the Council?"
"Yes. Every last one."
"Did they suffer?"
"Greatly."
Albein's features twisted into half of a smile, and he laid his head back. Then he let out a roaring, room-filling laugh, nothing but hatred and spite and glee. His laugh, feeling like an eternity to Alm, caused him to convulse and shake around on his haypile.
He was still laughing when Alm asked, "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"
"The prisoners…" Sergeant Albein stopped giggling, sat up, and grabbed Alm around the collar of his cloak, dragging him in close, so close that their foreheads touched, using too much strength for a dying man to muster. "Hang them, pull them up slowly so they choke and soil themselves and fear the end as it comes. Flay them, burn them, cut them apart bit by bit, feed them to the... rats and... drown them in the rivers…" Albein trailed off, his train of thought lost.
"I will," Alm said. No lie.
"Dastards… I win. I win!" the sergeant screamed up at the ceiling. "I win, I win, I win, I win, I win..." he muttered to himself, laughing madly all the while.
He's gone. The pain drove him mad. What a waste.
Alm stood, released his hand, and saluted Albein. "Thank you for your service, sergeant."
Albein didn't seem to hear.
The sergeant finally stopped them in the fortress' parade ground, a long and wide space sized for an army to assemble in a column, ready to march out the gates and into battle. The fortress' size had, in fact, turned to a liability for the Faithful, whose conjured abominations numbered too few to hold the full space of the walls against determined attack.
Before Alm, at the ground's centre, lay the Colossus of Duma. It stood thirty yards tall at its tip, such that it towered over the curtain wall itself. Its base was largely unadorned, only lit with a number of everburn candles surrounding it, a stone monument of Duma, standing up on His thin hind legs, His wings and tentacles reaching out to the sides and His head pointed into the sky, dwarfing Alm and all of the other men in the grounds. The War Father's horrible visage was carved with small holes, so that with the aid of a small enchantment, the whistling wind blowing against him was transformed into the sound of a faint roar that enveloped the courtyard whenever a strong enough gust blew up.
Over Duma's head and limbs, however, were laid near two-dozen or more long ropes that dangled down to collect on the ground. By each stood a squadron of infantrymen, waiting and keeping warm.
"Emperor Albein, sir, we know our standing orders are to destroy all idols of the fell god upon acquisition. But our captain thought you may wish to order the Colossus brought down yourself," said the sergeant
Alm couldn't help but smile. "She thought right. Begin as soon as you are ready."
"Yes sir, Emperor Albein," she said, in her soft tone. Then in the battle voice expected of a sergeant, she screamed, "Men! Sieze the ropes and make ready!"
They crouched down and picked up the ropes from the hard ground, before entering strong stances to pull and tightening their grips.
"Set!"
That order led to little movement; they were already in position. But then, "Advance!"
The soldiers shouted all as one, and marched forward until their ropes were taut.
"Pull!"
They shouted again, and all dragged the ropes as hard as they could. The statue remained in place, but the wind blew hard and the roar sounded loud, echoing in the concrete yard.
"Pull!"
Another shout and pull, but this time Duma shifted toward Alm, tilting down. But the wind built, the roar gaining strength with it.
"Pull!"
The men shouted again and redoubled their efforts, and the stone of Duma's body began to flex, the form being pulled to the ground as its roar only grew louder.
"PULL!"
The soldiers put all of their strength into the ropes and shouted, but the roar this time drowned out all the noise they made, just as loud as a real dragon. I can't remember my fight with Duma, Alm thought, but this must be what it sounded like.
As the shriek became intolerable, there came a sudden sound of shattering, as the Colossus' left leg broke at the ankle, and its right followed a split second after, and it fell to the frozen concrete of the courtyard ground. As the statue hit, it smashed and broke into pieces with the impact. Most didn't go far, but the head had been furthest from the point of rotation and had by far the most force. It hit the ground and bounced, over the men who pulled it down, and flew straight at Alm with the speed of a charging warhorse. Alm's guard panicked and tried to pull him aside, but he had a good measure of the head's trajectory.
"Let me go. There's nothing to worry about."
With some reluctance they released him, and Alm walked towards the bouncing head as it struck the ground once more and slid the last thirty feet, with a horrid scraping noise of stone against concrete. Alm put out his left hand, and the skull came to a halt against it.
Its ruby eyes, which seemed to just blink with light for a second, and Alm felt a sharp pain in the center of his brand, before it died away, and the stones returned to their dark red.
The army stayed at the fortress while it hunted down Faithful fleeing the siege, when reports came in, one by one at first, then a flood, of disturbances in the east, until a lone, ragged rider arrived from the eastern garrisons.
An Arthegnii horde had crossed the inlet while the Rigelian army was putting down the Faithful Revolt in the north.
Forty thousand barbarians were loose in Rigel, bringing fire and death once more.
This site seems to lack a notes section, so here they be.
A few things that might be worth mentioning:
- I'll mostly be referring to the Falchion as the Kingsfang, as done here. I have reasons for it, and if people are interested I'll say, but it's not going to be too huge a deal.
- The "Arthegnii" barbarians mentioned here are wholly made up by me, and aren't in some source material you haven't read. A few geographic features regarding them and Rigel are mentioned - if they're not self-explanatory I can expand directly.
- This is my first real attempt at uploading stuff I've written, so it should be interesting to see how it goes. I don't have an update schedule planned, but I don't intend on having months-long gaps between updates.
- It has a bit of a wonky narration style in a few parts. That's going to be largely limited to this chapter, which basically is meant as a bridge from the game to this story. I don't anticipate any more weird narrator-to-reader summary-of-fact sections.
- If there's anything that's confusing or unclear, please ask so I can clarify it and see where I can improve on my writing.
- In general, constructive criticism is welcomed.