...Nazarick...
Olasird'arc was quiet when Hejinmal approached.
"Father, I'm told you wanted to see me?" Hejinmal asked.
"I did." Olasird'arc said in a low, troubled voice. "You've gotten bigger. Stronger looking."
Hejinmal preened just a little bit. "Thank you father, Lady Aura has seen to it that I get plenty of exercise, I trade it for books, so I grow stronger in body and mind. But...you didn't call me here to compliment me, did you father?" Hejinmal asked softly.
"No, I did not." Olasird'arc said.
"I called you here to tell you that you were right, and I was wrong. I know what happened after...after I died. You gained an elevated position, wealth, power, access to what you wanted, all without risk or danger, while I ended up a corpse first, and a sheep to be sheared second. What you traded in ease, was taken from me in pain, lots of pain, lots of times, and in between those times of pain, I had time for contemplation. Tell me my son, did you ever think me stupid?" Olasird'arc asked.
Hejinmal shook his head. "No...you were strong, but you understood how we were stronger together, few enough of our kind understood that, you promoted change where others wouldn't, I simply did not fit with what you understood as strength, that doesn't mean I thought you to be foolish, I simply didn't want the same thing you did, and it took us the ways it took us."
Olasird'arc sighed, "It would have been easier to apologize if you'd resented me more, I think. Simply put, I have been...humbled, and had I not been foolish to reject the strength that came to you through your learning, I might have avoided it all, I have learned that those who yielded by choice have prospered, while I...did not. But they have offered me my chance at redemption, I go to serve in their war, and through service, gain my freedom from pain and I will be allotted a better life in serving by choice, and will oversee our people again as a much wiser being than I was before."
"I'm glad father, whatever resentment I felt...I did not relish you being tormented for your mistake in challenging the Sorcerer King." Hejinmal said.
"It is a mistake I will not repeat." He said.
"What are you going to go do for the war?" Hejinmal asked.
"I'm going to carry a human named Neia Baraja, do you know of her?" He asked.
"I do! I met her once...father...if you look her in the eyes, you will know why you are carrying her." Hejinmal said softly, "Please believe me when I say this, you will not consider her to be unworthy to be upon your back."
Once upon a time, the mighty Frost Dragon King Olasird'arc would have laughed at this, but as he looked at his son now and remembered his past mistakes and contemplated that the human served the king who broke him...he found himself nodding. "Perhaps you are right, I know now better than to simply dismiss your counsel."
"I wish you good luck father, and when you come back, would you like to borrow some of my books?" Hejinmal asked.
"I would." His father replied.
...Prart...
Time moved like a thief in the night, and the leather worker team had done their damnedest to be ready in time, they were...successful, but it had taken four different shops and most of their supplies to create what had been requested, for good measure, they had even borrowed the assistance of a master smith, a dwarf of all things, who had settled in the city years ago and stayed on ever since through thick and then. To their knowledge, he was the only dwarf in the city, he was also the best there was when it came to working with rare metals like adamantium, and it was much to their good fortune that he had just finished a job. Now he was free to work with them, and when he understood the project, he waived his fee and the cost of the materials, and turned the burn scarred rough hands of a master to the complementary workings of a saddle the likes of which the world had never seen before. For this he created a whole new stirrup system, one custom measured to the height of Neia Baraja, and which would not just hold rider by the feet, but would fold over with a latch system to wrap around the legs and via a pair of straps, secure the rider at the waist. The leather used was of the finest available, and was so large and heavy that it took all four men to lift it when it was assembled and stored away.
When it was done, they explained their system to Neia.
"Aye this thing'll hold you fast in a hurricane wind." The dwarven smith said, "This system'll latch your legs to the side, n'from there you've got these two simple straps that link together like the ends of a belt right at the seat, this way you'll be braced at the body, while your legs are not only protected from comin' out, but also protected from any ranged attack." He said, stroking his beard proudly.
"Remarkable." Neia said, "What metal is that, is it really...adamantite?"
"It is, second best metal I've ever had the privilege of workin with, but...the first best...well I still haven't managed it yet, so this'll have to do." He said.
The leather workers presented their work next, "As you're an archer and will need additional arrows, we've turned the saddle itself into a quiver, you have these carriers, "he touched his hand to the long rounded cylinders that were secured on both sides of the saddle, two to the front on both sides, and two corresponding on the rear, "These will each hold twenty five arrows, give or take, now, may I see one of your arrows?" He asked.
She looked at him quizzically, but drew one from her quiver and handed it to him, he stuck it down into the cylinder and twisted it. "Try to draw it out." He said.
She reached over casually and gave it a slight tug, it didn't move. She tugged again, it held fast. "Ahhh...please explain why my arrow is stuck." She said in polite confusion.
He grinned, "It isn't. Its secured. Watch." He said, and gave it a twist in the opposite direction. "Now pull it out." He said and gestured back to it. She reached over and pulled it out with ease. "
They were grinning like the cats who'd eaten the canaries. Since dragons can loop around upside down, we realized that this would cause the arrows you're carrying to spill out and drop to the battlefield below, so we made it so that they twist into place at the bottom, and don't come out unless they're twisted back the same way, they twist clockwise on both sides for a smooth draw. The workers were clearly very proud of themselves, they were preening like roosters, and they, from her perspective, had every right to be doing so. "Also, while your design specified a second seat, we found that based on expected dimensions, we couldn't easily create a saddle to wrap around in quite the same way, so instead we created a joint saddle, this connects to the other via these straps at the back and is held secure under the legs, we interwove the leather with adamantite strands to make sure it couldn't be just 'cut' by a wayward shot, even if the leather frays or is struck, it will hold fast, though the one you're riding might chafe a bit for the rest of the day." One of them said with a clever grin.
Neia bowed to the group of five. "Gentlemen you have outdone yourself, I couldn't be prouder to have you on my side, you have earned your place tomorrow.
They clapped each other on the shoulders and were right glad of her praise when they left.
The next day Neia received the note she'd been expecting, the siege of Kasaga had begun in earnest, prisoners from Skana's expedition had been coming in daily, some had been specially identified as war criminals to be held for trial, while others were marked for common accord and due to be released without further inquiry barring crimes while imprisoned, once the war was over. She finished the last stamp on the last document and handed it to Tinamoc.
"You look happy today." Tinamoc said. "Not quite what I expected given the news of the siege of Kasaga." He said. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her curiously. "Why might this be?"
"Well, you know the details yes?" She asked.
"Well I've sat in on the briefings with you, kind of have to, what with me handling trade matters with the Calcan loyalists and logistics for the city and all...but I don't really get the military matters much. The only metal I know much about comes in the form of coin." He said.
Neia set aside her stamp and folded her hands together in front of her on the desk. "As you know, a few days ago King Astraka attacked the city, and he outnumbers them three to one. However you also know our soldiers are just plain better, or should know that, I hope." She said with an arched brow, and he nodded along.
"Nobody could doubt that, he wouldn't have used three to one odds if he thought you were worth less than half of one of his men." Tinamoc said.
CZ snorted from where she stood, at Neia's right hand. "Black Justice is strong."
"Good, so you also know that he's got, thanks to the efforts of our partisans and other insurrectionists, a very bad supply problem, right?" She asked.
"Well I don't know how much damage has been done relative to what he has or needs, but I know you're not going far without food or water for an army." Tinamoc said.
"Well, the siege is ending today, and he doesn't have enough supplies to get his army back to Hoburns intact." Neia said with a very self satisfied grin on her face.
Tinamoc looked at her in surprise. "Exactly how is that?" He asked.
Neia held her grin, "You know about the general city assembly today of course." She said matter of factly.
"Of course," he said, "everyone does."
"You'll find out then." She said with a sweet and secretive smile.
She was not disappointed by the turnout. That afternoon most of the city had been emptied and stood outside its walls while Neia stood up top between the two gate towers and looked on the wide open ground before the famous city of Prart, as she looked over the crowd she was proud of what she saw. The black armor of her forces, with their telltale red chain designs framing the torsos of thousands of people, filled the area, those who were not her soldiers, or her priests, or her paladins, wearing their customary garb, were her people, well fed, strong, bright eyes and bright faces, people who believed they had a future to build and were confident that they could build it. Few among those were not wearing a pin representing the shield of black justice, she reflected briefly that whoever thought to start selling those little pins was probably a very rich person by now. She smirked, that was fine, if people wanted it known with what faith they were affiliated, sobeit. A sea of little black shields with a red chain circling it, was sported over countless hearts in the form of those little pins.
She looked off into the distance, the people were facing her, but she could see just what she expected, off in the distance, a flying figure heading in her direction.
"People of Prart, our family in Kasaga is at risk! They are besieged by a foul usurper King, a figure of Southern oppression, a figure who did not come to our aid, but abandoned us all to die, now looks to RULE US!" Dark mutterings and grumblings greeted her words, the South was not popular in the North, the wounds of war ran deep, the exploitative behavior of their Southern neighbor was the driving force behind the trade mission, to kick-start economic activity in the North and allow them to compete and rebuild, the Southern nobles had bought up land or sent unscrupulous relatives north to enrich themselves from a distance without contributing to the rebuilding in any meaningful way. The priests had, far to often, been disgustingly complicit with this, and everybody knew it, ESPECIALLY in Prart where it had been the most evident and the most corrupt.
"Will we let an abandoner king rule us?! Will we stand for it?! Will we leave our family in Kasaga to fight by themselves?!" She shouted, choruses of no were peppered throughout the crowd.
"No we will NOT!" She shouted, "We will see Calca, the Queen who DIED FOR US! Seated on the throne again where she belongs. She who died for us, lives again for us, and she stands beside the monarch who saved us! The monarch who crushed the demon emperor Jaldabaoth is coming to our aid! But we! WE must act as well, what is justice if not action! What are brotherhood and sisterhood if NOT the willingness to lend our strength in support of one another?! Even as our enemies come north to besiege us, The abandoner King Astraka kills his own people to take a throne that is not rightly his! Therefore I must leave you for now, but I will not be long, no, not long at all!" She saw out of the corner of her eye down below the men hefting the large crate holding her dragon saddle, already with its quivers filled with arrows, moving out of the gate and down the road that split the crowd. They drew curious looks, but as she held their attention she saw that was almost time.
"I will not be going alone however! I go with a powerful ally, one who will ensure victory over our enemies, no matter HOW MANY they may be!" She shouted, and drew out her bow and pointed behind the crowd, not that she needed to do so, the beast was coming down, silver as the snow and ice, deadly and dangerous to behold, his icy coloration was marked by only one distinction, on his wings top and bottom, was painted the banner of the Sorcerer King. Olasird'arc Haylilyal landed behind the crowd and let out a roar to shake the mountains, the people saw the mighty dragon land behind them, its wings folded in facing them, showing the banner of their hero and their god to all with eyes to see it.
The four man team was quick in unpacking the saddle, and to the everlasting awe the crowd saw the once mighty king over creation, the dragon, bow its head and allow, of all things, a saddle to be mounted at the base of its neck by humans that did not even reach a quarter way up to his knee even if they stood on his feet. When it was done, Neia drew out her bow and fired an arrow secured to a rope, this arrow flew straight and true along the center of the road, where CZ moved and caught it, she pulled the rope taut and Neia secured the rope on her end with a hook to the loop that held up the city's flag, and she grabbed a strip of rope and looped it over, then she lept off the battlements and slide down the rope all the way to the center where CZ dropped the rope, allowing Neia to hit the ground, roll forward, and spring up behind the crowd that had whirled watched with shock at a legend in the making.
"If you will defend one another here, I will defend all of us there!" She shouted, her arms wide open, her evangelist voice thrumming through their blood, "Who protects Prart!" She shouted?
"I protect Prart!" Thousands of voices answered.
"Who defends the walls?!" She shouted again.
"I defend the walls!" Was shouted back, with a thousand voices turning in to one that surpassed the roar of a dragon.
"Then I leave the city in your hands! Do not fail me! Do not fail the Sorcerer King! Do not fail Queen Calca! And above all, do not fail those beside you, or behind you!" She shouted, and swords and fists and bows and spears were raised up in thunderous cheers, and she ran from where she stood, and jumped into the saddle, she quickly secured her legs into the modified stirrups and strapped herself in, with CZ falling in behind her. She drew her sword and held it to the air. "FLY!" She called out, and with an answering call, the former king of the frost dragons roared and flapped his wings and lifted himself into the air, his tail curled out behind him, the trees bent at the beating of his wings, and more than one unlucky peasant lost their hats forever that day as they were blown from atop their heads to parts unknown.
Many a great poet and bard have remarked on the power and the ferocity of dragons, but in all the tales ever told, what is often lost is the gracefulness, the beauty of the creature in flight, it was born to the skies as surely as it was to its mystic breath, and it flew through the air with the grace and the ease that a fish swam threw the water or a horse galloped the open plains, its body a testament to its nature as it was held aloft, gliding on majestic wings that put the finest attire of all the kings of the earth save one, to shame as if those kings were clad in the rags of filthy beggars on the street. Its scales glinted in the sun like flower petals, their thickness as invincible as armor forged by a legendary smith, this was the mount of the warrior pope, servant of the last remaining god, and the vision was etched forever on the memories of thousands of staring people
However among these massive crowds who took the scene as a memory, to make of it a story to tell the children and grand children that they did not yet have, there stood a few gifted artists, one of whom became especially renowned when in the post war years, when he made the famous painting, 'Saint Neia and the Dragon' which depicted her with a joyful expression on her face, glorious in her youth, deadly intent in her eyes, dignified in her legendary armor, magnificent bow, that gift of the Sorcerer King himself secured upon her back, and holding aloft a commanding sword as she straddled a dragon and turned it into a loyal mount, while behind her the one eyed CZ held her mysterious weapon in a ready position.
Neia in her later years would remark that the moment was one of the five most remarkable in her life.
But in this moment, as she was heady from the rush of her evangelic ability and heady from the rush of rising into the sky like a bird, and Olasird'arc Haylilyal took her through the sky, ever closer to the city of Kasaga.
Traveling directly by air was relatively quick, and within a few hours they had reached their goal, arriving far behind the lines, from the air the people below were like ants, but they were ants fighting a war. She saw the siege towers at the walls, she saw the ram battering at the gates, bodies lay as unmoving dots scattered around the outside, it was clear that the walls had not fallen, Black Justice was taking a deadly, deadly toll. Yet King Astraka was, whatever his faults, an able and dangerous commander, he was judicious in the use of his soldiers and had clearly kept fire control and superiority as a priority, he was not spending the lives of his men like pennies, arrows covered their advance and they used their numbers to force the black armored servants of the Sorcerer King to spread themselves thin, and every soldier of Neia's order that died, was a greater decrease in combat effectiveness than it was for King Astraka to lose one of his own.
"Are you ready CZ?" Neia shoutd behind her, the wind was chilly and high, but it did not seem to bother the tight lipped servant of Ainz Ooal Gown.
She hefted her weapon into the firing position in response.
"I'll take the first shot, then you follow! Olasird'arc, head straight for them, strike terror into the hearts of all false kings that will echo for a thousand years in myth and legend!" Neia shouted, "And when I fire, I want you to roar, chill their blood before we break their souls!" She called out.
There was no answer, there was none needed. Neia hefted her bow, she drew it back as she nocked an arrow. She took a deep breath, and put power of her own into a weapon that was already powerful without her, and when she exhaled, she let the arrow drop from her fingers as the string thrummed forward, and changed the world forever. The shining arrow imbued with power struck a siege tower moving towards thew alls and it burst into flame. While that arrow was in flight, another was already behind it, and she struck a tower that was already at the walls. Her arrows flew like made from her position, and when the sixth arrow was in flight Olasird'arc Haylilyal showed King Astraka the power of a dragon's roar, it echoed from his gaping terrible maw, to the walls of the city and back, and Neia guided him with her legs as she would a horse, sending him in a curve that gave CZ easy shooting opportunities, and showed the city the banner of the Sorcerer King painted on top of the dragon's wings as it's turn tipped it almost vertically. CZ's weapon took a deadly toll and the targets were plentiful, but the dragon's frost breathe was a flow of death. The cheering atop the walls as foes who were on them turned to retreat were exultant and fierce, and King Astraka found himself caught between a dragon and a city wall...which in turn in the many years ahead would become a popular expression, and to say, "I'm caught between a dragon and a wall" was used to say one was in an impossible situation.
The shining arrows came from her one after another dropping soldiers like flies as frost breath came out and cleared any remaining enemies off the city walls, the massive frame of the former Dragon King was a terror on its own, even without the nightmare scream that was his bellowing roar. Reclaiming positions all along the walls, Black Justice soldiers used their bows and targeted any weakened position that was not struck by dragon's frost, there wasn't a ladder that had not been pushed to the ground, nor was there a siege tower that was not burning, the ram at the gates had been entirely abandoned and a team of quick thinking Black Justice soldiers began to push it away to open up the gate's for exit. Soldiers abandoned the walls en masse and rushed out after the first group took the initiative, Astrakian loyalists were fleeing in terror in every direction, the inevitable victory and steady control of the competent king had turned into a chaotic specter of death and chaos, the high morale of the Black Justice fighters and their light powerful armor turned against disorganized enemies who were desperately doing a dozen different things, was like a hammer swung against an egg sitting on an anvil.
Smashed, that was the only word to describe it, some hardy archers had tried to fire at the frost dragon when it flew low on the battle field and swiped at men with its tail or took entire an entire horse and rider into his maw to crush and drop, but their steel arrows were not tough enough to penetrate the thick natural armor of the powerful Olasird'arc.
The sun shine bright over the battle turned massacre, and the glinting steel armor of the Abandoner King had turned them into easy targets, while the armor was also equally useless against the magic bow of the warrior pope, her deadly eyes decided who would live and who would die, the arbiter of death on the back of a dragon, and the graceful fluid motion of quiver to bow moved with machine precision brought about by long practice.
Bursts of flame and sheets of ice swept around the field, and Olasird'arc had sense enough to take care to avoid areas where the black clad fighters had clumped en masse to bring down a formation of stubborn resistance on their own.
Neia hunted for the banner of the Abandoner King, and as the numbers fled in terror, she spotted it, tipped over on the ground, she clenched her legs against the sides of her mount. "Land!" She shouted, and the former king under the mountain obeyed, coming down gently to the ground in slow, steady circles. When his feet gracefully touched the ground, she patted him on the neck as she unstrapped herself and dismounted, she approached the front where his head was, and held her hands up, he lowered his massive visage close to her, and she reached out and touched him on the nose. It was then that he saw her eyes. In them he saw an endless spiral of death and torture, demons screaming and thrashing, a darkness and a well of power that made the fierce quagoa king look like a mewling infant, and he understood the words of his son, in the eyes of the Pope, the frost dragon felt frozen, until she spoke with unexpected kindness. "Thank you." She said, "You've done a great service today, and neither I nor this city will forget it." The dragon nodded somewhat reluctantly, glad not to be her enemy, and Neia approached the fallen banner as CZ dismounted and joined her.
Members of the defending Black Justice unit approached just as she was picking it up, she held it aloft and waved it as a prize of victory. "The Abandoner King has abandoned the siege! Victory! Victory! Victory!" she shouted and cast the banner down to the ground again for all to see. Enthusiastic shouts rang out from the survivors.
The cleanup was quick after that, with Black Justice soldiers tending to the wounded of both sides, securing the surrenders of those who could not flee and did not have the will to fight any longer, the battlefield was a mess, siege engines still burned and some desperate wounded still tried to flee the battle turned massacre, only to find that the only place they could go was into captivity or death.
Around the field desperate injured still screamed in pain and called plaintively for their mothers to come and help them, in spite of the thrill of victory, the dark side of war, the pitiable, filthy, horrible side of loss and pain and wailing wounded who would never know a moment's peace for the rest of their days, if they even lived another day, surrounded them all. The commander of the city defense approached and bent the knee before his pope. "Stand up man I'm not our god." She said with a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Thank you, Pope Neia." He said, "You've saved us today, if you hadn't shown up, I would have guessed we'd be back to the city center in a few hours at most."
Neia nodded, "Your men did well to hold out as you did, but we still have more to do, I assume you've already dispatched riders to see to the pursuit of any survivors?" She asked.
He nodded. "As soon as I saw the route, I signaled a pursuit, every man and woman with an undead horse is chasing down survivors."
"You work fast." She said.
"My justice lies in action." He said simply, and stuck out his hand. Neia took it and shook it firmly, it was a good grip.
"Your mount...how did you...where did you...?" He began as the realization really began to set in for him as to what had just happened.
"His name is Olasird'arc, and he is a servant of the Sorcerer King." Neia said, stepping aside and gesturing to her mount. Olasird'arc inclined his head politely.
"You saved us today." The commander said. "I'm Commander Hazamoth, and if ever I can return the favor to you, noble dragon, then return it I will."
"I would like one small thing." He said.
"Name it." The commander replied.
"Do you have any books I could take with me when I leave?" Olasird'arc asked politely.
...Somewhere on the road away from Kasaga...
Astraka ran like a rabbit. A dragon! They brought a thrice damned gods cursed DRAGON to Kasaga! His army was in tatters, thousands of men spent, all for naught, he'd cast aside his banner and anything that could identify him as the king and fled like a peasant, he had managed to confiscate a horse and he'd managed to get ahead of most of his men, but there was no help for this, it was a true and thorough defeat for the martial king, someone was riding the damn thing, he'd seen the arrows flying from it, and those strange flashes from the other person behind the person controlling the beast, it wasn't hard to figure out, his intelligence reports had told him of the strange weapon wielded by the demon maid of Ainz Ooal Gown and the way heads exploded when she wished them to, she was always close to one person...Neia Baraja. Astraka cursed and swore up and down like a sailor denied shore leave during discount day at the brothels. His face was twisted in fury and his body coated with sweat from raw fear.
He'd been so close...so CLOSE, and to have it all snatched away within hours of victory, not burned to ash so much as frozen to death in a winter frost, he didn't have anything that could defeat that thing, not at Kasaga anyway.
"Hoburns...I have to get back to Hoburns..." He said to himself as he rode as if pursued by demons, and from the intelligence reports on the terrifying gaze of the Black Justice warrior Pope, they might as well have been...
...Nazarick...Neuronist's Music Room...
"No more! No more! Oh please no moooooore!" Philip wept and cried and screamed as Vanysa played out a symphony on Philip's flesh, quietly she hummed along as his screams were 'tuned' by the implements of pain to recreate a facsimile of 'Beethoven's 9th Symphony' that Demiurge had introduced her to. She now knew just which way to slide her talon over which part of his body to create just the right kind of scream. Kantessa had been satisfied hours ago, but Vanysa was not. Finally Philip's vocal chords gave out, right at the crescendo.
His sobs were pathetic, but in the sadistic eyes of the fury there was no pity. It was only when she returned to her human form as his ability to scream was broken, that she let him rest as he hung naked from the wall. She sat in a chair a few feet away, a beautiful peasant girl as she had been before she herself had been transformed, and she simply watched him and waited, sooner or later, he'd speak again, she was sure of that, even if he couldn't scream properly for awhile.
First he had tried insulting her, calling her a stupid woman, calling her weak, calling her a whore. Then he had tried threatening her, saying he would gut her, he would sell her as a slave to a brothel, he would do terrible things to her, and she had simply sat and listened, her peasant, former human status in place, he seemed to be to stupid to realize just what he was dealing with, perhaps because he'd fainted during the last session of torture, when he awoke and saw the 'peasant girl' he thought of her previous transformation to have been a dream. An incompetent idiot of the highest degree, she reckoned.
Now as she sat there, she wondered what he'd say next.
"I...can offer you anything you want!" He said desperately, "I...I'm a king you know, a nobleman, we could make a deal, I could marry you, let you become a queen if you get me out of here, or I could make you rich, do you have any idea how much a king's ransom is? I'm so important to Re-Estize, they'd pay a mountain of gold to get me back!" He said in his cracked and desperate voice.
Bribery it was then. Vanysa snorted, pathetic.
"C'mon, there has got to be something! I'm sure I've got a deal to offer! Not many peasants are given the opportunity to make deals with kings you know." He said ingratiatingly.
Her eyes snapped from disinterested amusement to wide and attentive. "Say that again." She said softly.
"Say what again?" He asked in confusion.
"What you just said." She repeated, "The very last thing."
"Not many peasants are given the opportunities to make deals with kings you know." He said, confusion momentarily replacing his dread as she had him repeat himself to her.
There it was...she heard the voice...the fist rising in the dark, the moonlight through the carriage window illuminating the face, the bearded handsome and furious face, the feel of its impact, the memory of falling into blackness, the words, the deeds...the whip...the pain...her shredded flesh, tatters on her back dangling like strips of cut leather, carving into her own breast a final message for her lord, biting off her own tongue, laying back, the feel of her own blood choking her to death as she slipped away, her final words of faithful victory over her the noble who had humiliated, tortured, and abused her with his constant questions that she would not answer no matter what he tried to bribe her with or how he'd hurt her.
The wings sprang out from her body and her fury shape erupted as she closed the gap between herself an Philip, her fangs came down upon his lips as if she were to kiss him, but this was not a kiss, at least not that any lover would ever desire, for her fangs pierced his upper and lower lips as her talons ripped deep into his flesh in a grip a petty spoiled noble could never hope to break, and in the bite upon his flesh, he found the power to scream, but not the ability to loose it as his lips had been forced shut by the power of her bite, and then she yanked her face back, tearing his lips away from his body and spitting them as little lumps down to the floor, as if to punish him for using the words of her tormentor and abuser, and she let loose with a scream of her own, a mad and terrifying series of cries that flooded the dungeon like a deluge as all her memories came flooding back.
When he lost consciousness again, she restored herself to her simple human form, silence overtook her as her eyes went clear and cruel, and she went to tell her king what she now knew. With any other ruler, she would have wondered how much it would matter, but for this one, she had absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of a doubt...there would be pain for pain and blood for blood, and that thought made her smile as she skipped her way down the hall, all the way to the throne room, humming Beethoven's 9th Symphony as she went.
AN: Well there we have the closing of a loop, the requests for a look at the torture of Philip are now fulfilled, don't ask for more, you only got this much because he served as a useful foil for this particular scene, its time for him to disappear, if he's seen again its as a cameo when he gets a 'singing partner'. Vanysa's memory is restored and we now have Neia Baraja, Dragon Rider. The war is heating up and my new format is making this much, much easier than it was. Today was my last planned triple release, God Rising will get semi daily releases as it takes more work than the others, but you can expect 'a' story to get a chapter roughly every day.
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Thanks for reading, I hope it was worth your time. :)