I do not own Chaotic nor anything related to it. It belongs to TCDigital.

-[]-[]-[]-

The Lord of Gothos, Lord of Blood

-[]-[]-[]-

Gothos Tower is a tall, imposing building. Its walls are made of pitch black stone, and its stained-glass windows are blood-red. The "sky" around the tower occasionally cracks with sickly green lightning, enveloping the structure in an otherworldly glow.

The tower itself appears to float above a cliff, connected to the mainland only by a single stone staircase. It's an illusion, though. The tower reaches all the way to the bottom of a deep, mist-filled canyon, only appearing to float because its base is concealed by mist.

There are twelve red and gray armored creatures guarding the stairs to Gothos Tower. The Gothos Phalanx, led by Atrapol and made up of creatures almost identical to him. Their movements are sluggish, and there's a blank stare in their glowing eyes. Whatever they had been forced to do and undergo while brainwashed by the M'arrillians, they have not, and might never, recover from it.

Chaor waves a hand in front of Atrapol's face, then scoffs. "Why leave vegetables guarding your fort, Van Bloot?" he sneers before returning to his army.

His army. There's maybe a hundred soldiers here. Swordsmen and muges and infiltrators. Soldiers on wings and soldiers on foot. Takinom leading the skies, and Chaor leading the ground. Even Seeryn the efreet is here.

Then there's me. Black armor with gold trim, more than five weapons strapped to my person. Maliph and Malvadine stand on either side of me, on guard.

If this had been any other tribe, this would be an army ready to battle. For the Underworlders, this is an army ready to talk.

"Bloot!" Chaor roars. "Get you maggot-riddled a** down here!"

...A very, very loud talk.

The doors to Gothos Tower creak open, and a blue, harpy-like creature steps out. Bald except for a ponytail, almost skeletal, a mechanical eye, around his waist is a skirt of feathers and furs, and hanging from a belt is a simple sword.

He spreads his arms and feathered wings before calling out, "Chaor! My lord, what an unexpected surprise."

"No playing the fool, Bloot," Chaor spits. "You knew we were coming."

Van Bloot grins toothily and bows. "As you command, my King. Please, do come in. I have dinner prepared."

Chaor folds his arms over his chest. I can see the edges of his lips twitch, signs of the snarl he's holding back.

"Is His Majesty not hungry?" Van Bloot chuckles.

Chaor ignores the question and asks one of his own. "Where are your people, Bloot? Hiding? Waiting to strike when our guard drops?" Chaor's throat rumbles in a cross between a laugh and a growl. "We will stay right here."

Chaor's soldiers look ready to attack at any moment. Van Bloot's own army is likely ready to counter any assault. The Gothos Phalanx are not the Underworld traitor's only line of defense, after all. There could be a few creatures hanging from the ceiling, or hidden in the mist under Gothos Tower.

Van Bloot grins wide again, though this expression betrays impatience and stress. "Very well, my King," he says with another mocking bow. "What news have you and yours come to bring me?"

"You're under arrest," Chaor says before Van Bloot finishes his taunting. "Your forces harass the Danians and the Mipedians, killing many who are not equipped to defend themselves." Classy, Chaor, no mention of the Overworlders. "You make a mockery of the laws set in place by the Alliance-"

Van Bloot dramatically doubles over laughing. "Oh, this is precious!" He laughs harder, then straightens and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. "Do you know how much of a hypocrite you are, Chaor? Since when have you cared for alliances, honor, and the other tribes?"

"Silence!" Chaor roars.

Van Bloot draws backwards a little, then stands at his full height. "I will not be intimidated, Chaor," he growls, the humor in his voice suddenly gone. "Arrest me? Hah. I know what fate you have in store for me. You cannot expect me to throw myself at your mercy, because I know you will not show any. The only thing in my future is death if you have your way."

I roll my eyes. Get on with it!

Chaor tilts his head a little to the right. "So, I take it you will not submit." He spreads his arms, presenting the troops behind him. "I brought an army. No matter what you choose, you will not survive this day."

The soldiers behind Chaor raise weapons, ignite hands, and prepare mugic. Maliph and Malvadine hover their hands over their weapons, and I slowly slide the strap of my cyclance off my shoulder.

Van Bloot's eyes narrow, and he grins wide. "You are correct, Chaor. If I give up, I die. If I fight, I die. If I fight a full-scale battle, army against army, that is." Van Bloot draws the sword at his waist. "So, I instead offer this."

Van Bloot stabs the ground in front of him with the tip of the sword, and in a loud voice he cries out, "I, Lord Van Bloot, Master of Gothos Tower, declare combat by champion!"

With those words, the mists surrounding Gothos Tower begin to rear up. They flow around the cavern, forming a wall of haze.

Van Bloot straightens up and spreads his arms. "I wager my life against yours, Chaor!" He laughs, and his voice echoes around the chamber. "Do you accept my challenge?"

Chaor stares long and hard at Lord Van Bloot. At this distance, Bloot wouldn't be able to see it, but from where I stand I can see the king of the Underworld smirking. He straightens up and calls out, "I accept the wager, on the condition that the fight takes place here and now!"

Smart one, Chaor. As long as Van Bloot isn't actually inside Gothos Tower, he can't use its powers to turn invisible.

Van Bloot looks unconcerned, though. "I accept your terms," he cackles. Lights appear around his body, and when they clear, he's wearing strange, stone-like armor and wielding a vicious scythe.

Chaor grins toothily. "I take it you will be your own champion?"

"Who better?" Van Bloot laughs. "Are you ready, Your Majesty?"

Chaor lets out a deep laugh. "You have named your champion. Now, let me name mine."

Van Bloot blinks. "So, you will not fight for your own life?"

At that, Chaor laughs even harder. "You aren't worth the energy it would take to smear your brains across the floors of Gothos Tower, Bloot. I will show you how low you really are, how little you matter to the Underworld. Your death will not be by my hands, Bloot."

I step forward and draw one of my own swords. When I'm a pace ahead of Chaor, I plant the sword into the ground. "It will be by mine," I declare.

Chaor raises his hands and shouts, "For my champion, I name Osiris!"

Van Bloot stares at me, slack-jawed. "...What?"

"It's simple," I say as I pull my sword up from the ground and rest it against my shoulder. "You aren't worthy of dying like an Underworlder, so you won't fight one. You'll fight me, someone not even from Perim. You will not be the creature who a king had to kill."

Van Bloot blinks, then laughs. "Well, remember those words, Osiris, because when my blade pierces your heart, I will be repeating them right back at you." He grips his scythe. "Ready your weapons, Human!"

I raise my left hand. "Gladly. Seeryn? A moment, please?"

-[]-[]-[]-

Heat. Smoke. Ash. Flame. Instead of Gothos Tower's courtyard, I see air swirling with these things.

Seeryn, the efreet, a creature made out of fire and light and lava, floats in front of me in empty space. Four arms, two legs, and a pair of blazing wings.

He bows low. "How may I be of service, Prince Osiris of Al Mipedim? In what way may the embers and the sparks meet your will?"

Seeryn's voice sounds like the crackling of a bonfire, and the air around us roars like an inferno.

Seeryn continues, "Tell me, Osiris, what hellfire and volcanoes I may raise. Speak and say what all may be thy desire. Let flame and magma consume your enemies, or molten gold fill or chalice. In short, oh Prince, tell me this: what is your prayer, your want, your wish?"

-[]-[]-[]-

Up next: The Challenge and a Wish

-[]-[]-[]-

Like the story? Follow and review!