Chaos. That was the only word to describe what took place before him as the Expansionary Defense's carefully planned strategy fell apart. Chaos--gods he hated that word. He watched, horrified as the army of alien warriors laid waste to the city square. They used their strange weapons to destroy or vandalize the sculptures that stood about the square, all the while shrieking curses to his people for having created works that defied the "true" gods and sought to create others.
It wasn't long before they began destroying lives as well. In their eyes, these beings who had defied them--who still refused the "true" gods after all of the demonstrations of their power that they had been offered--must die. Those who refused the "truth" and cleaved to ancient lies were not worthy of life.
"Listen, I've got to go help them. I've got to do whatever I can. You two stay put," his father said. "And Mitth'raw'nuruodo, watch over your sister."
He nodded, "I will." He watched as his father placed his charric in its holster and grabbed a small dagger from a drawer. He stood there looking after him long after his father had gone, a vague sense of worry nagging at the back of his mind. He refused to allow the nebulous question to form fully. He was far too afraid of the answer he would give and he could not allow himself to break down. He had to be strong for Sheran.
"Is Father going to be all right?" He heard her small, timid voice asking the very same question that he had just refused from the corner in which she huddled, flinching at every sound.
"I don't know," he said, refusing to lie to her. "I think he will be." He took his place of vigilance at the window once again. "I'm going to watch him the whole time and I'll tell you everything that happens."
He did just that for what seemed like hours, trying not to flinch himself every time he saw someone fall. He watched his father, charric in one hand, blasting those at a distance and defending himself from the rest with the dagger. He fought gallantly, dauntlessly like a vindictive god wreaking his vengeance on those who had been so impudent as to incur his wraith. Soldier after hated soldier fell to his unyielding power. And all around the once beautiful square countless others did the same. And all about the now ravaged square, countless intrepid warriors perished in the names of their people, their families, and their freedom.
And suddenly, he noticed the absence of the occasional whimper from Sheran. She had been entirely quiet for quite some time. He looked back over to her corner, a vague sense of dread twisting his stomach. He found the corner empty. She had slipped through the door that had been left open and he hadn't even noticed, as enthralled as he'd been in watching the battle. Panic seized his heart and every other muscle in his body, momentarily paralyzing him. When he was finally able to free himself from the clutches of this dismay, he ran and seized the scimitar that hung above the altar in the hall. Then he rushed out the door and into the very heart of the pandemonium that now reigned supreme in the once peaceful square. After a few disquieting moments, he spotted her in the very center of the fray, dodging weapons and wincing as she stepped over and around fallen bodies. Their father fought on, having not yet noticed the tiny child making her way through the riot.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo ran after her, trying to watch in every direction at once, knowing that should he let his guard down for a split second it may very well be the end of his existence. He tried to keep Sheran in his sights as he cut a path through the legions of Enemies that seemed to multiply with every passing minute. He shouted her name but to no avail. He was not close enough to be heard above the din of clashing weapons and crashing structures.
"Daddy!" he heard her scream. He sliced his way past the last of the aliens in his way just in time to see her grab her father about the waist. The battle beginning to diminish, he obviously thought it safe enough to kneel for a moment and comfort the terrified child. He was quite mistaken.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo continued running, the distance seeming to grow instead of diminish. As he watched, one of the fallen Enemies, bloody and weak, managed to raise himself to a somewhat upright position and...
"NO!" he shrieked, having suddenly realized precisely what it was that this once fallen soldier intended to do. His shouting was futile, however. He was not heard above the rest of the pained and angry screaming of the battle. He looked on, his heart frozen like a block of ice, his legs feeling heavy and excruciatingly slow as he tried to reach them, hoping with all of his heart that he could do something to stop the abominable creature.
He was finally coming nearer when the detestable being raised his sharp-edged staff high, shouted something unintelligible, and plunged the weapon downward, impaling the last remaining members of his family in a single strike.
"NO!" he shrieked again, sobbing this time. He closed the distance between them, and for the moment, he tried to ignore the bodies. He turned his attention first to the vile warrior who had fallen once again and lay there dying with a smile on his wretched countenance.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo stood over him, hate and loathing mixing with pain and anguish to create a violent and lethal tempest. "Good," he spat. "You're not dead yet."
He knew that saying anything was most likely futile. The warrior probably did not speak their language, but words did not always have to be understood to convey their meaning.
"This," he shouted, plunging the the scimitar viciously downward, "is for my family. This--" another stab, "is for my people. This--" another violent plunge, "is for the all lives you have taken. And this--" a plunge through the heart, "is for my honor." He was still stabbing long after the wretched creature was dead, tears streaming, shouting curses to the creature and his entire horrid race.
"May your body burn in the flames of the destruction you have sewn here, and may your soul be consumed by Kh'aos," he bit out a final curse, the worst he could imagine, before turning to the bodies of his family. He sank to his knees beside them, no longer making any attempt whatsoever to hold back his tears.
"Forgive me," he sobbed, "I failed you."
"Yes," a strange voice spoke from behind him. "And now you will die with them."
It was quite surprising, he thought as he was roughly dragged to his feet with the Enemy's sharp-edged staff held at his throat, that one of them spoke their language so well.
"This is for my people, for the lives you have taken, and for my honor," the Enemy whispered before slowly drawing the the sharp edge across his throat. Mitth'raw'nuruodo bit his tongue hard, refusing to scream.
"You have no honor," he was barely able to utter these last words.
The Enemy threw him to the ground amongst the other bodies and left him to die. His last thoughts were of blood--that of his Enemies, his family, and now his own. He lay covered in it as it drained away from his body, taking what life remained with it.
He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming sense of panic. If only he could scream, someone may find him and save him from the death that crept closer with each passing moment...But he could no longer breathe...
*****
He awoke in a cold sweat, stifling a scream. He sat there clutching the sheets, heart pounding for the few disorienting moments it took for the images of destruction and death to fade away to the more peaceful reality of early morning.
Alana gazed quietly at her lifemate who stood up and stepped over to stare out the window. He looked rather troubled--no surprise considering the manner in which he had awakened. It was not difficult to guess the subject that had haunted his dreams. It was always the same. He stared intently, seeing not the stunning view of the city, but specters of the past. He touched his throat, idly fingering the scar there. She stood and stepped over to him.
"What is wrong?" she asked quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Nothing," he said, his hand dropping suddenly to his side as he tried to affect a carefree smile. "I'm just thinking."
"About what?" she questioned. He said nothing for a moment, trying to decide whether to actually tell her this time or simply fabricate another lie and shrug it off as he usually did. This wasn't something he really wanted to talk about...
She spoke again before he had the opportunity to decide. "Let me guess," she said. "You're thinking about your father and Sheran and how you failed them. You're thinking about what your father would think of this whole ordeal. And you're wishing you had just died with them."
"Stop being so perceptive," he replied so softly she could barely hear him. "It's frightening."
She smiled slightly, "Well, if you would tell me about your troubles instead of brooding, I wouldn't have to rely so much on my perceptions."
"It's not that simple," he sighed.
She took his hands and looked up into his deep red eyes. "I know," she whispered. "But you need to talk to someone." And soon you won't have anyone to talk to even if you want to.
He stepped back to sit on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. She followed, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"He didn't have to die," he murmured. "None of them did. I've studied the historical records. There was plenty of evidence that they would be attacking. The CED knew they were going to attack, but thanks to the Code they had no choice but to sit and wait for it to happen and try to defend us when it did. They could have destroyed them before the Enemies even had a chance to attack but that wouldn't have been moral. What was moral about allowing them to attack and kill hundreds of civilians and warriors?" He studied the floor, eyes filled with bitter tears. "And my father was one of the most dedicated supporters of the Code. He always followed it to the letter, and it wound up getting him killed."
Alana remained silent, unsure of what she should say. She couldn't think of anything that would be the least bit comforting. But he continued before she could come up with anything.
"But the Ruling Families and the Warriors' Code can't be blamed entirely. I suppose I am also at fault. They allowed the attack to happen, but it was my responsibility to take care of Sheran. I failed. And so, yes, sometimes I do wish that I could have just died with them. But now I thank the gods I did not. For if I had, my life would have been futile, for I would never have met you."
He looked up, gazing into her eyes, now filled with tears of their own.
"How am I ever going to survive without you?" she whispered as they embraced, each thinking their own bleak answer to the question--they couldn't.
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