Ch. 16: First Reckoning
Bordering the Northwestern edge of the Oaknysian forest was a bowl-shaped valley known as "The Cirque." Here, a wide, circular depression pressed deep into the earth, forming an amphitheatre-like landform that served as the perfect natural arena for the Connelier. Spectator stands of wood and stone had been constructed upon the rim of the Cirque, from which tens of thousands of humanoids and demihumans now gazed down upon the open pit.
A gentle mist permeated the morning air, infusing the atmosphere with a dewy yet soothing quality that tempered the electrifying excitement brimming from the crowd. The flag of the Standard of Peace fluttered amidst the soft breeze as it sat in the center of the basin, projecting a field of protection that isolated the pit in a transparent bubble.
From atop the Luminary Terrace, a marble balcony attached to the forefront of the stands, the three most esteemed individuals of the City State Alliance sat around a circular stone table.
Lord Sagittar Elothris of Karnassus, Leader of the Elothris Coalition: An ancient elf of tall and regal stature, whose long silver beard trailed all the way down to his waist. His emerald eyes retained a formidable sharpness despite his age, and an indomitable aura exuded from his seated frame.
Lady Ri Laris Kabelia of Bebad, Leader of the Kabelia Coalition: An attractive woman in her thirties, with coffee colored hair tied into a neat ponytail. Her features had a carefree and welcoming quality to them, but the occasional gleam of her turquoise eyes indicated a subtle, underlying cunning.
And finally, the Oracle of Oaknys, Appointed Representative of the Brave Coalition. Draped in the same oversized piece of cloth, her head barely reached the top of the table.
The names of Elothris and Kabelia represented the dominant power of their respective cities, Karnassus and Bebad, over the rest of their Coalitions. Their rise to power served as the catalyst through which the current order of the City State Alliance was born.
Even before the emergence of the Sorcerer Kingdom in the West, Lord Elothris had begun scheming to expand the power and influence of the Karnassus City State. Through his long lifespan, incredible patience and intellect, he had worked to gradually set the stage to reclaim the glory of Karnassus over the rest of the City State Alliance.
That opportunity finally came with the advent of the Equestrian War following the Great Vanquishing, over ninety years ago. Using a counter invasion as an excuse, he roped in Beppo Allo, East Gaith and West Gaith to form the Karnassian Coalition to combat the Equestrian King.
As the coalition won victory after victory in their unity, a long suppressed national identity rekindled once more under the banner of Karnassus. After a decade of further political maneuvering, Elothris renamed the Karnassian Coalition to the Elothris Coalition, fully consolidating his power over a great chunk of the City State Alliance.
The first to respond to this sudden emergence of unity amongst the city states was the Kabelia family of Bebad. Weary of Elothris's continued growth, they leveraged their imperial connections and their lineage's long history of governance to expand Bebad's presence in kind. In a conspicuously short period of time, the Kabelia Coalition began to take shape as the cities of Grand Wythes, Franklin and Ris fell under their sway one after another. Rumors of the Kabelia family confiding with mysterious powers beyond just the Empire eventually began to spread, but not before the identity of the new Coalition solidified for good.
Seeing the rapid splitting of the City State Alliance into two halves, each led by a hegemonic and power hungry authority, the swordsman Brave foresaw the inevitable civil war to come if nothing was done to counteract the new fissure in the Alliance. Thus, under his own banner, he united the cities of New Orcneas, Veneria, Greater Listaran and Oaknys into the Brave Coalition.
Unlike the other two Coalitions, however, no singular entity dominated over the rest. It was founded under the principle of mutual peace and equality between all its member cities. A principle that would be more or less maintained to this very day.
As a respected figure both within and without the Brave Coalition, the Oracle often served as their symbolic representative during the Connelier and other meetings of importance. Once every four years, she would uproot herself from her grotto and become the mouthpiece for not only the Wisps of Oaknys, but also the cities of New Orcneas, Greater Listaran and Veneria.
Behind each of the three individuals at the table stood a supporting advisor. As the lead organizer of this year's tournament at Oaknys, Quartermaster Randell Forris found himself chosen from the ranks of the Brave Council and thrust yet again into the political fray.
Standing to the back of the Oracle, Randell narrowed his weary eyes as he examined his two counterparts of the other coalitions.
Behind Lady Kabelia was a Lizardman draped in a brown cloak that concealed all but the strange sight of a pure white snout jutting out from underneath its cowl. The demihuman's powerful, muscular frame suggested that it was male, but not much more could be discerned save the glistening hardness of its albino scales.
At Lord Elothris's side was, well….no one. The elven lord sat alone at his side of the table, but Randell had a feeling that his inability to spot any presence at the elf's side did not necessarily indicate the absence of one.
"Lord Elothris," the Oracle began in a firm tone, "we have been nothing but tolerant and cordial towards you in the past few months, but your most recent encroachments have tested the limits of our patience. The great Wisps themselves are increasingly distressed, for they foresee signs of devastation to come."
Randell tilted his head slightly in approval as he heard her initiate the conversation as she had been briefed. While the Oracle was hardly a politician, she served as an effective spokesperson by delivering the talking points of the Brave Council while adding in her own clairvoyant warnings. If she ever steered off course, it would be Randell's task to steer her back in the right direction.
"Tolerant and cordial?" Elothris questioned the Oracle in a mild voice "I did not request this supposed leniency of yours, Oracle. If your Wisps take offense at whatever it is you are accusing me of doing, then feel free to send in your levies to investigate."
The Oracle's pale reflective eyes hardened formidably, and her demeanor suddenly transformed into a sharp and unyielding guise.
"You know full well that we have tried." she rebuked. "Whatever your goal is for these incursions, it has to stop. We have coexisted in relative harmony for all this time, why choose now to shatter it all? If you insist on this stubborn course, we will have no choice but to mobilize for open war."
"Then do so." Elothris replied with a dismissive shrug. "Your words carry no weight; your threats as empty as the peace you cling upon with such stubbornness. Do you not see? A harmony so fragile and contingent upon the cooperation of others is no harmony at all. We have held on to this brittle alliance for all these years, but when true adversity rises from within or without, will we truly have the strength and unity to withstand that coming storm?"
"It is time," he continued "for these fragmented lands to be united under a single banner. With the power I have at my disposal, I will end this cycle of complacency and stagnation once and for all. What I do, I do for the future of Karnassus."
The Oracle opened her mouth to respond again, but not before the silky voice of Lady Kabelia interjected for the first time:
'I do wonder...how exactly have you been conducting these lightning fast operations, and what is this "power" you speak of? Finally utilising all of your covert forces and magic casters, I presume? If that's all there is to it, I'm not sure such confidence is warranted.'
Elothris narrowed his eyes at the woman's statement. While his composure remained calm, a sliver of wariness entered his gaze-the true rival of the Elothris Coalition was not the reserved city-states of the Brave, but the equally ambitious and dangerous Kabelia Family.
"So even the infamous Ri Laris Kabelia has moments of ignorance," he replied in a cryptic tone. "You will see soon enough. I dare say even the likes of you would be surprised."
"Hoh, is that so?" Lady Kabelia mused. "I doubt it."
The Oracle gazed inquisitively towards the leader of the Kabelia Coalition: "Why do you receive his words with such indifference? Do you not fear the chaos that will seep into this land? The countless lives that will be lost when the balance between our three factions has been thrown into disarray?"
"Perhaps we can form a temporary accord," the Oracle offered, "and join together to take a stand against this-"
"Join together?" chuckled Lady Kabelia before the Oracle could finish. "The offer has already been extended to you. You need but accept it."
The Oracle tilted her head in confusion towards Randell, who abruptly interceded in her place:
"Offer?" he asked with a frown. "Our Council has not received any such invitation from the Kabelia Coalition."
Lady Kabelia simply sighed at the Quartermaster's question, ignoring it in favor of the Oracle's earlier inquiry:
'I am "indifferent" because, unlike the two of you, I possess a sense of scale. Elothris will not succeed; these lands do not belong to him. It is that simple. The territory we call the City-State Alliance has already been claimed. These efforts of preservation and usurpation are little more than insignificant games playing in the shadow of something far greater than you can imagine."
"So there is no cause for concern." Ri Laris Kabelia concluded in a dry, unconcerned tone. 'There is only one Justice in this world, and it is not on your side, Sagittar Elothris. Proceed with whatever "plans" you have at your own risk, for you will learn soon enough just how out of depth you truly are."
Lord Elothris and Lady Kabelia locked gazes, and a stifling pressure seemed to descend upon the Luminary Terrace. After several seconds of silence, the elven lord finally turned his gaze away to stare out across the expanse of The Cirque. His eyes lingered upon a certain part of the natural arena, and a sly, confident smile spread across his wizened face.
"We will see about that….."
Down within the eastern section of the Cirque, Solina Mathis stood at the ready among a loose formation of the ten Chosen of the Brave Coalition. Her violet eyes stared out across the impending battlefield, locking upon the Standard of Peace in the distant center of the pit.
The Standard projected a magical field in a designated radius, which could teleport anyone hit with a fatal blow to outside of the invisible dome. The field had the added utility of being a barrier that isolated the competitors from the surrounding spectators, thus preventing any destructive effects from leaving its radius.
Thus, logically speaking, Solina understood that the worst thing to happen in the upcoming battle was the dishonor of defeat. While the Connelier was a serious clash of might, it was not a true battle to the death. Those who entered the fray could demonstrate their prowess and ability with a basic sense of security; a catharsis of intersectional tensions could be achieved without the stain of bloodshed.
And yet….
Solina frowned as she felt the pricking unease throughout her body. Despite the reassurance of safety granted by the Standard of Peace, she could not quite shake off an inexplicable tingle of danger. Her dominant hand reached reflexively towards the hilt of the scimitar at her belt, but as her fingers wrapped around the leather handle, she felt her usually firm grip give in to a slight tremble.
"Solina, are you alright? You're looking a bit pale…"
Solina turned towards the voice to her right, where Hothris stood looking at her with soft eyes of concern. The elven mage had managed to pass the final selection trial in the end to be chosen-not that she was surprised. In terms of power, Hothris was quite gifted and almost as effective in combat as Vamir or She'zak. His cowardice against the Death Knight had been the sole stain on an otherwise promising record, which made her wonder just exactly what he'd read about the undead monster in question.
"Ah, I'm fine." she replied, in part as reassurance towards herself. "I might just be a bit nervous, that's all. All my training has been leading up to this moment, and I suppose I might just be feeling the brunt of the pressure."
"So it's not just me." sighed Hothris. "I still feel so inadequate for this role, considering the individual taking up my current slot could very well have been Sir Momon instead, had he agreed to compete. He would've surely been a massive boon to our roster-much more so compared to myself or any of the other Aspirants."
Solina silently agreed, but said nothing. It didn't feel right for her to comment on degrees of worth when it came to competing in the Connelier, for Hothris and the other Aspirants had worked extremely hard for an opportunity to participate and deserved their due recognition. However, she could not deny the great gulf between them and the warrior in question.
She recalled the way those massive black swords had smashed into the armor of the monstrous Death Knight, and how effortlessly the man had pummeled the creature into dust. If those same blades were turned against their enemies in the Connelier….
Still, she hadn't been surprised or disappointed when the mysterious warrior declined the Quartermaster's invitation to compete. If anything, it had felt like a matter of course. Individuals like Momon were entities confined to legend; presences that lingered only so long as for their shadow to be imprinted upon the land, but never so involved as to become a figure of familiarity.
For someone like that to help them out in a tournament would have simply been too….easy. Too mundane. So when Momon had disappeared over the previous night, leaving only a note indicating that he had other things to attend to, it had felt like a natural end to his fleeting tale.
The mysterious warrior, clad in black, who had appeared in the wilderness to effortlessly strike down a monster that bested three of the most seasoned combatants of the region. Gone in a flash by the end of the next day.
He had come and gone like the wandering hero of some childhood fable, and Solina wondered whether or not she would even remember the encounter as the years flew by. It was a memory so extraordinary that it could be confused with a dream or figment of imagination, and perhaps with enough time, she herself would question the very authenticity of that recollection.
The loud toll of a bell resonated suddenly from above, and Solina broke away from her thoughts, redoubling her effort to steady herself for battle. This was the second bell of the day, which signalled for the combatants to be ready and in position. The first bell had been rung when they first descended into the pit, and soon the third bell would mark the official commencement of the first event of the Connelier.
When that happened, all three Coalitions would advance towards the center of the pit, and chaos would ensue. These three-way clashes were often crude and simplistic in their violence, as fancy strategy and schemes were widely considered taboo in the Connelier. Basic formations and flexible teamwork were fine, but attempts to circumvent direct combat would be met with boos and jeers from the audience.
Victory was declared when only the members of a single Coalition remained within the arena, marking the end of the first event. The rest of the day would be dedicated to hosting one on one duels, where the winner would be declared through a sequence of elimination rounds.
Solina turned away from Hothris, squinting to gaze out towards the opposite side of the Cirque, to pinpoint the Chosen of the other two Coalitions.
She grimaced upon seeing that her vision was increasingly obscured by the emerging fog. Only moments ago, it had merely been a faint morning haze that permeated the surroundings, but the prior mist had slowly intensified into a veil of semi-translucent white smog.
The longer she scrutinised the fog around her, the more keenly she could feel that prickle of unease she felt within. A sensation of disturbance that echoed the triggering of her [Sense Evil] began to rise within her very chest, but before it could fully take form, the third bell tolled.
She gritted her teeth and forced down her discomfort to join the rest of the formation as they advanced forward towards the center of the pit. The soles of her studded leather boots squelched against the slight moisture of the dirt and grass beneath her quickening stride.
As she drew close enough to see the encroaching silhouettes of the enemy, Solina heard the distant eruption of raucous excitement from the crowd. As an atmosphere of raw excitement descended upon the natural arena of the Cirque, a hot anticipation shot through her, momentarily flushing out her concerns.
It's finally time….
In one practiced motion, she drew her scimitar from its sheath and set it aflame with a silent enchantment as the three groups of Chosen met in the center of the pit.
Several of the more hot-headed warrior types rushed forward and collided in battle immediately, erupting into a series of small-scale brawls of steel and claw. Solina opted for a more cautious approach as she edged closer towards the enemy, her violet eyes darting back and forth in search of an appropriate opening.
Suddenly, she felt her eyes drawn to a particular corner of her field of vision. Through the cluster of clashing bodies before her, Solina's gaze fixated upon a female figure with raven hair, garbed in the green colors of the Elothris Coalition. A dreadful feeling clenched upon Solina's chest as the woman turned towards her as if sensing the former's observation, revealing a pair of eyes blacker than the deepest night.
The raven haired woman raised a hand, and Solina felt all her hairs stand on end as tendrils of azure energy sizzled upon the woman's palm. But before aught could be unleashed, something changed in the essence of the very air.
Hesitation gripped Hyumilla just as she was about to utter the incantation of her first spell. Her dark eyes narrowed as she felt a fleeting sensation dance across every fiber of her being, one that she could not recall within the palpable reaches of her memory-
Fear.
It was not the same as that whimpering aversion to pain and death that so frequently wracked the minds of the lesser ones around her. No, this was different. It was a terror borne of reverence, one that hailed from an intrinsic connection to an immutable force of absolution far above her-The Fear of Gods.
In that same moment, the light around her faltered and a growing shadow seemed to fall upon the entirety of the natural arena. The magic fizzled from Hyumilla's fingertips as she lowered her hand, and with hallowed anticipation in her heart, she gazed towards the heavens.
Up in the morning sky, the once pale and unassuming mist darkened into a murky shroud upon the firmament and the sun. As the radiance of day waned under the growing gloom, the dark fog condensed and coiled into the likeness of a giant skull.
Disturbed voices rose all across the spectator stands as the crowds noticed the sudden, mysterious phenomenon in the sky. The collective mood warped as confusion and uncertainty began to creep upon the masses, until finally…
...They emerged.
One by one, dark silhouettes resembling comets woven from smoke and shadow streaked out of the eye sockets of the mistborn skull. Ghoulish faces protruded from their "heads," their incorporeal bodies ending in trailing tendrils of writhing darkness. They bobbed and weaved in the air, releasing strange, eerie wails as they danced across the forsaken skies.
The uneasy whispering of the crowd escalated into panicked shouts and screams upon the sudden appearance of the mysterious apparitions. Eventually, one particular cry would be the fuse to light a wildfire of infectious horror.
"V-Vanquished Spectres! The legendary Haunting of Oaknys-it's happening again!"
As those words rang out with particular vigor from amidst the din of the stands, the crowds erupted into absolute chaos. Countless humanoids and demihumans scrambled out of their seats in a massive stampede of feet and paws, hooves and claws.
But their retreat only served to draw the attention of the dozens of "Vanquished Spectres." Like moths drawn to the flame of panic, they streaked towards the crowd in a stygian blur, releasing waves of unholy power in their wake that withered all in their vicinity. Within a matter of seconds, thousands of spectators had fallen victim to the apparitions' attacks, and the walls themselves crumbled under the decaying aura of the monsters' presences.
But the carnage had only just begun, as even more beings descended from the tainted heavens. Two massive, vaguely skeletal shapes formed from crackling white energy appeared from the mist. No features could be discerned from their spectral forms, save for two emerald lights that blazed like haunted flames in place of eyes. Instead of legs, they had sizzling tails composed of the same pale essence that made up the rest of their bodies. Two "limbs" sprouted from the sides of their writhing torsos, ending in long claw-like appendages.
The first of the two beings drifted slowly towards the bowl of the Cirque, where the Chosen had since paused their battle to stare, transfixed, at the encroaching entity.
Unlike the Vanquished Spectres, this new Phantasm made no sound as it moved through the air, slow and steady in its creeping pace. Almost all who stood within the pit could feel themselves frozen in observation, as if trapped within some lucid nightmare.
Locked within that same state of reverential fear, Hyumilla found herself similarly paralysed as she stared, engrossed at the sight of the apparitions in the sky. Unlike the rest of the Chosen, however, she felt that there was something intimately beautiful about the scene before her-like a work of art painted by a familiar hand.
Finally, the Phantasm descended upon the bare earth of the pit. It extended its grasp, and in one clean sweep of its claws, a clean snap echoed throughout the Connelier as the Standard of Peace broke in two. The protective bubble that had isolated the pit instantly evaporated.
That inconceivable act of sacrilege served as the rallying alarm that broke the trance-like state that had consumed the combatants below. Galvanised into action, several of the warriors closest to the monster pounced simultaneously towards it with their weapons raised, releasing a litany of battle cries that rang out in a resonating unison.
But suddenly, as their bloodlusted figures streaked through the air towards the Phantasm….
...everything stopped.
Their airborne bodies froze completely in the air, and Hyumilla watched in disbelief as Time itself grinded to an absolute halt.
She slowly took in the world around her, her usual icy expression turning into wide eyes of naked shock. It seemed like existence itself had come to a complete standstill, for nary the faintest breeze nor the slightest shifting of the earth could be felt in the air and land. Nothing, living or dead, moved so much as a millimeter in this void of temporal stasis. Hyumilla spotted Sfeiza in the corner of her eye, locked in an unmoving stance with her hunting knives drawn at the ready. Even the Phantasm above had been consigned to the same fate, its pale essence ceasing all manner of movement.
For decades, she had known naught but the superiority of her own power-a peerless, unstoppable force that lingered in the shadow of the Elothris Coalition. But as she stood in that vacuum of time, surrounded by unspeakable happenings that defied her very conception of strength, she realised that the world she thought she knew was crumbling to dust before her eyes. And then she felt it-
-a skeletal grip upon her wrist.
[Delay Magic: Greater Teleportation.]
Hyumilla recoiled in awe as a being garbed in lustrous black robes materialised beside her. Her mind went blank for several seconds, and she could hear the exaggerated thumping of her heart as the overwhelming sensation of inexplicable familiarity washed over her once more. The stranger turned to look at her, his crimson gaze smoldering with power as it bore into her own shocked, blank eyes.
He lifted his other hand, and a fistful of dust trickled through his bony fingers onto the ground on which they stood. But before she could question the strange gesture, or anything else for that matter, the gears of time began to turn once more. In that same precipice between stasis and succession, the two of them vanished into the misty air.
In the next instant, the Chosen continued sailing through the air towards the Phantasm, their powerful figures blurring in acceleration as they activated their martial arts to strike down the monster at hand. Just as their weapons were about to come into contact with its spectral form, it retaliated in one bone-chilling shriek.
The creature extended both its phantasmal limbs, its emerald gaze blazing as it unleashed a nova of pure white energy that emanated outwards from its body. The combatants in closest proximity immediately disintegrated into dust upon contact, but the ring of unholy power did not stop there. It continued to expand, leaving no life behind in its wake.
What the hell is going on? Why is this happening?!
Randell's face turned the color of ash as he processed the absolute chaos that had so abruptly taken over the tournament.
For countless days and nights, Randell had labored and stressed over the Connelier, determined not to tarnish the reputation of Oaknys and the Brave Coalition. He had hoped to deliver a memorable event, one he could look back on as a moment of shining pride in a career of tedium and overworking.
And yet, as a result of forces far beyond his control, everything was spiraling into ruin. He could never have even thought of accounting for the inexplicable things that were now unfolding before his eyes, and he knew that he was powerless to stop them.
Randell clenched his fists, and momentarily gathered up his fractured spirit as he turned to address the Oracle. Regardless of what was happening, he could not falter in his immediate duties.
"Madame Oracle, we must leave this place at once."
The demihuman woman gave a grim nod and slowly got off her seat with the Quartermaster's assistance. Before turning to leave, Randell slid a suspicious glance at the other two leaders, but the two individuals seemed just as shocked and disturbed at the events unfolding before them.
Suddenly, Randell jolted as he heard a deathly gasp from beside him. The Oracle had turned to stare off in the direction of the balcony's edge, her small hand pointed straight towards a white shape looming closer towards them in the sky.
Soon, all those present upon the Luminary Terrace began to notice the approaching Phantasm.
"Wh-what is that?" Randell sputtered in desperation.
Upon reaching the edge of the balcony, the monster paused, rotating its fleshless body as if to survey the breadth of the Terrace. After several seconds, it extended its ethereal claws straight towards the Oracle.
As the Oracle met the inhuman gaze of the Phantasm, the distress on her face turned into a hollow calm as revelation dawned, and she whispered:
"Death."
Within a heartbeat later, her skin, flesh and blood were ripped instantly from her small frame, converging into a pale stream of her physical essence and sucked in to join with the Phantasm's flickering white energy.
The same fate would befall Randell before he could even process the Oracle's appalling demise. His very being was inhaled into the monster, leaving naught but a bare skeleton behind.
Having finished with its first two victims in a matter of seconds, the Phantasm drifted towards the next hapless figure in its path.
Lord Sagittar Elothris recoiled backwards as it came close, visibly shaken by the swiftness and simple brutality of the previous deaths. His long beard quivered with fright, but the authority that shone from his emerald eyes did not falter as he barked an order to the shadows:
"Two, to me!"
A female spriggan draped in dark green colors immediately emerged from stealth to stand between Elothris and the encroaching monster. Brandishing a steel chakram in her hand, she began to grow in size, her petite figure expanding and expanding-
The Phantasm swept its ethereal claws casually through her growing body, and the spriggan disintegrated upon contact. Elothris watched with his mouth agape as the creature drifted slowly over his bodyguard's ashen remains to float face to face with its intended prey.
The two of them now close enough to touch, Elothris could finally behold with clarity the ethereal visage of the unstoppable monster. The mysterious white essence sizzled like an amalgamation of vapor and flame. Translucent one second and solid in the next, the only constant of its shifting structure were the twin green flames that blazed like haunted reflections of Elothris's own eyes.
The Phantasm extended one of its phantasmal "limbs," but rather than the wispy, clawed appendage from before, the hand of Randell Forris reached out from the pale essence to clasp onto Elothris's face.
And then his screams began.
Unlike the swift, silent demise of the others, Sagittar Elothris writhed in agony as his flesh and innards grinded into liquid before being siphoned slowly at the Phantasm's leisure. The seconds crept by like eternity until finally, his skeleton clattered to the ground in a heap of bones.
It turned, at last, to the final two individuals left on the Luminary Terrace.
But then, it hesitated.
In place of where the hooded lizardman previously stood was an armored suit, reinforced with interlocking plates of gears and metal. A long, cylindrical weapon was holstered upon its right arm, which was now pointed straight towards the Phantasm. Ri Laris Kabelia could be seen huddled behind the suit, trying desperately to appear as little a target as possible.
The Phantasm stopped momentarily in its tracks, tilting its "head" as if carefully examining the unexpected obstacle between it and its quarry. After several seconds of pause, the creature finally turned and drifted away from whence it came, its pale form appearing smaller and smaller as it withdrew back to the distant sky.
Kazer's knuckles grew pale as they tightened around the shaft of his axe. He heard an ominous thumping sound as a humanoid body tumbled down the stands to land right next to where he stood. The withered husk was a shriveled, emaciated shadow of the lively spectator that had once been- chunks of flesh had been torn off its body as it toppled down row after row of the stands, revealing blackened bone withering from an unnatural rot.
It was only another of many such drained bodies, piled in a tragic heap around the hapless Chieftain as he stood; a rare survivor in a sea of death. Some of the corpses were wracked with more natural injuries-victims of the fleeing stampede, trampled underfoot by the tidal wave of those desperate to escape. Nonetheless, the bodies tangled together around the orc, forming a mountain of the deceased-a warped shelter against the ongoing carnage.
The spectral culprits danced in the skies around him, continuing their ceaseless onslaught as they swooped in and out of the stadium. Their horrific wails mingled with the untold number of screams and cries as they cut a swathe of death through the helpless masses. In certain parts of the stands where multiple Spectres congregated, the wood and stone of the stadium itself decayed and crumbled, loosening from the cliff to careen down into the pit below. Dozens of bodies-alive or dead-plummeted down in tandem, like some twisted form of waste disposal into a landfill of death.
Kazer's bloodshot eyes shone with a mixture of terror and rage. He wanted so badly to shout a challenge to those vile fiends in the sky, to leap into the air and cleave them all to oblivion with a swing of his axe.
But he could not.
His courage failed him; his voice faltering under the horrors that unfolded around him. The very sight of those dark blurs induced an instinctive fear within him, and it took all his willpower simply not to cower in a huddle within the mound of corpses.
He had heard tales of Vanquished Spectres in the past, but a part of him had dismissed them as the exaggerated ramblings of attention-seeking minstrels. Now, however...
He gave a dark, crazed chuckle as he considered the matter further. In a way, he had been right. If those things had actually shown up a hundred forty years ago during the Connelier, there would be no doubting their authenticity. He was certain now that the "Organizer of Oaknys" fiasco was nothing more than a fantastical cover up for simple mismanagement. Perhaps today was some unholy reckoning for the folly of invoking such a dreadful legend as an excuse.
Suddenly, one of the Spectres drifted dangerously close to where Kazer was situated, and an icy chill tightened around the orc's heart. He had been lucky enough to barely avoid the range of a previous Spectre's lethal aura. If yet another arrived at his position….
Panic shot through him, and yet he dared not move a muscle. The apparition drew closer and closer, but suddenly….
It stopped.
The wails and shrieks of the Vanquished Spectres abruptly ceased in unison. Kazer stared with bated breath as they floated, one by one, back into the mouth of the skull in the sky.
Is it over?
As dozens of black shapes swarmed into the eerie nebula of dark fog, a glimmer of relief sparkled in Kazer's desperate gaze. He considered perhaps that the spectres had finally had their fill, and that the worst of the horrific storm was over.
But as the apparitions vanished into the mouth of the skull one after another, the latter only darkened as the fog that formed it grew blacker and blacker with each infusion of the Vanquished Spectres-and the spectacle did not end there.
Kazer watched in weary silence as two white shapes, far larger than the black spectres, drifted slowly into the eye sockets of the skull and out of sight. Several seconds crept by without so much as a sliver of commotion, and then it all culminated in an unspeakable awakening.
White flames burst from the eyes of the giant, smoky skull, and it opened its gaping maw to let out an earth-shaking shriek of unimaginable horror. It came to life in that instant, bobbing slowly through the air towards a distant section of the stadium. It widened its monstrous jaws, and in one massive chomping motion, consumed a great chunk of the stands. Tens of thousands of those who thought they had survived the previous onslaught perished instantly in that terrible moment.
Kazer observed, transfixed, as the skull's gigantic maws opened and shut again and again, and soon over half of the stadium had been reduced to nothing, exposing the barren rock beneath. Finally, it loomed near Kazer's position.
The horrifying mouth opened once more-a massive fissure of darkness that emerged like some abyssal vortex, threatening to devour all in its wake. Kazer braced for his own inevitable demise, but the fatal moment never came-for instead of delivering yet another dreadful bite, the skull released a second screech.
This time however, it was no longer the simple shriek of an awakened monster. It was a unified chorus of howls and screams-the tortuous collection of countless vocal cords vibrating together in a requiem of the damned. They were the voices of the hundreds of thousands of humanoids and demihumans that had died today; crying out in unison as they languished within a mass of defilement.
It was finally too much for Kazer-the voices were too loud, too painful. He crumpled to the ground, clamping his thick hands over his ears while squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sights and sounds of his surroundings. He felt himself unconsciously curling into a trembling ball, too shocked and terrified to mind the countless corpses still piled around him.
One…
Two…
Three….
The seconds ticked away, but Kazer refused to release himself from his self-induced shell. His senses failed him; his reasoning dominated by an all-consuming fear that resonated through every fiber of his being.
That pitiful state lasted for what felt like eternity, until Kazer's spirit finally flickered back into existence as he felt warm light filtering in through his eyelids. Slowly and steadily, the orc forced his bloodshot eyes open to find himself bathed in the radiance of the sun once more. Dazed and confused, he stood himself up and looked around.
The nightmarish skull and mist had disappeared, and nothing remained to obscure the warm afternoon sun as it dawned upon the ruinous aftermath of the Connelier. Kazer soon realised that all but his own section of the stadium had been consumed, and as his gaze lingered upon the Luminary Terrace only several feet above his right, a dark realisation finally struck him.
Ri Laris Kabelia stood tall alongside her hooded retainer, staring out upon the scene of despair-the only surviving leader of the three coalitions.
All this time, he had been wary of the Elothris's Coalitions reckless encroachments, but he now realised that all their petty conflicts were but childsplay in the face of true, unbridled might.
Kazer recalled all the rumors he had heard regarding the Kabelia Coalition's dark and mysterious dealings, and he realised that despite all his miscalculations and folly, there was one thing that he had gotten right at the council meeting.
Laughter, mad and uncontrollable laughter, began to fill the air. Kazer found his voice once more as he descended into a roaring fit of hilarity. He chuckled and guffawed at the sheer absurdity of it all, and red hot madness filled his vision as his laughter echoed throughout the basin-the only sound in the wake of annihilation.
