“Fancy meeting you here Rhododendrun, I’m positive that this region was in the purview of our order. Not you Chalybs hypocrites. I have to say, I’m not a fan of your toys.” The Malakos imposter stood triumphant over a shattered catenarii, the transfigured human puppets, otherwise known as the chained. The top half of its body had crushed beyond recognition, resembling nothing more than shards of kindling. A second creature stood opposite the mass of flesh and twisting vines, its glamour having been cast away as it had engaged with its full strength against the wooden human puppets.
“Rafflesia, you worthless filth. Why should I care what the sordes think, I am not some lowly carrion feeder such as you! Wodhling’s are barely worthy of sitting at the Goddess’s feet… look at you, you cannot even maintain your human form any longer. Just like a wodhling to fall to their base desires, allowing hunger to control you… pathetic.” Rhododendrun stepped forward, tendrils of shadow wrapping around him, obscuring his form, a wooden mask fashioned like that of a falcon hiding the face beneath.
He appeared before the opposing cult member from the order of wodh, emanating an aura of superiority. At his side was the unfortunate Therapon, his body warped by dark magic, flesh petrified and entwined with root and bark. His face twisted into a pained scream, one that would last for an eternity, each step matching the movements of Rhododendrun’s fingers, like a puppeteer pulling his strings.
“Why don’t you scurry away like the filthy bottom feeder you are Rafflesia. I am busy at the moment and cannot be bothered to waste my time dealing with you. Consider it a gift, I will allow you to keep your life… Of course, if you are seeking death, then I will be happy to oblige. After all, I highly doubt Orchid is aware of your movements… are you attempting to circumvent them, to earn merits in order to justify your pitiful existence. Frankly your monstrous appearance suits your disgusting personality… how much longer before your mind slips away entirely and you give in to the hunger?” With every word Rafflesia’s vines could be seen twisting and turning, tightening the way a human might gnash their teeth or tighten their fist. The reaction was especially noticeable at each mention of beauty, it was clear that Rafflesia hated her monstrous form, having trained her illusory magics to maximize her glamour.
Infiltration was one thing, but it was clear to the insightful Rhododendrun how much effort Rafflesia placed within that single magic. There was little need to go to the point that it was virtually indistinguishable from the real thing, that extent true mastery of the glamour magic that was just unnecessary to confuse mana less humans. It spoke of an underlying obsession with beauty, maybe because of how ugly her form had become, she wished to regain that which was lost, a mockery of what once was.
“Shut up!” Unable to contain her boiling anger, Rafflesia lashed out, vine like tendrils forming into a sword and striking out towards the calm falcon masked man. A wall of darkness manifested between the two, swatting away the assaulting vines, slowly causing the tips to wither and die. Yet the root like vines would regenerate just as quickly as they had begun to decay, a battle of attrition had begun and neither monster intended on yielding to the other.
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At the same time the two monsters began their duel, Niko and the others had continued their assault upon the catenarii, the petrified human puppet controlled by the distant Rhododendrun. Luckily for the party of five, the creature’s reactions had begun to slow, its attacks less frequent, more focused on defense. None were aware of the ongoing battle between Rafflesia and Rhododendrun, unaware of the diminished control and therefore capabilities of the catenarii standing before them.
However, this creature was formed from what was once Nicandros Duris, first born of House Duris and a rising star within the elite palace guard. Unfortunately, the stalwart Nicandros’s brother Therapon had made a deal, one which would see the destruction of House Duris, the enslavement of its soldiers and his family’s transformation into their living prisons. For the catenarii were puppets, but they were not dead, the human was instead trapped within a prison of petrified flesh, a passenger within their own body, commanded by the mystic responsible for their transfiguration. Enslaved for eternity to their killers, their immortal bodies cursed with increased strength and stamina, praying for a strong opponent capable of ending their miserable existence. Death was the only salvation for the catenarii, once turned there was no return.
Thankfully the use of such a spell required extremely precise ritualistic requirements, as a blood relative must willingly submit and murder the chosen sacrifices. A cursed dagger imbued with the energies of darkness and death, plunged into the heart of the victims would the curse take hold. Should the pawn fail to honor the deal with the bestower of power, they too will be transformed.
Had the defenders been aware of this reality they may have held some pity for the poor souls, the black ichor leaking from their frozen eyes a sign of the suffering endured. However, the result would be the same, one side would live and the other would die, for Nicandros at least it may have been some mercy, as opposed to spending decades or perhaps centuries in a state of perpetual undeath. Forever suffering, forever hating, and forever praying for the sweet release of death.
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Apollonius along with the rangers kept the House Duris archers pinned. As Maatilani and her outriders cut down the attacking forces from the front with Jezebela and her Scylla fighters at their side. Together carving a blood-soaked path from the front of the domus all the way up to the front gates. At the rear Niko, Timeaus, Mera, Spurius, and Paulus challenged the inhuman monster, keeping it at bay using axe and spear to whittle down its defenses, avoiding its strikes and employing vials of acid to disintegrate its outer armor.
All the while none noticed the last group of unknown’s slip over the rear wall. The group of around ten men had hesitated initially, believing the Ocealus guards would be their main impediment. Yet the situation had exploded beyond their capabilities, what could only be considered a war between houses had ensued, from their vantage point they were able to understand the scale of blood spilled.
In comparison theirs was a pitiful group, brigands, and thugs, malnourished or without proper training, more than able to muscle the common stall owner, intimidate slum dwellers. This however was on a scale far above them, observed how the defenders cut down their opponents, how their blades reaped lives just as easily as farmers threshed wheat. Should the enemy discover their presence in this place, they would endure the same bloody fate.
Yet in this moment of blood and death, their leader Argades understood that should they not seize this chance, this moment in which all attention was turned toward the greater threat, there would be no chance of claiming his heart’s desire. He realized that the Taureas family, the tyrants of the western slums were but an insect amongst leviathans, his men, even the brutish Damastor, his chief enforcer wouldn’t last a minute against any of the Temrenosian elites. Should he act upon his desire’s there would be no safety within the walls of the city, fleeing towards Myrmien, towards the main Gorgion family would be his only hope.
“Boss, is this wise? I dun think these folks be the sort we can bully. Is that girlie worth the risk?” Damastor trembled as he spoke. They had witnessed the young man get kicked through the stone wall, saw him get up, and felt the heat from the blast of wind. The men knew that had they been in a similar position, their bodies would have been split in two, or burst like a crushed fruit. All confidence in their strength had diminished upon witnessing the slaughter being met upon the better trained attacking force.
“Stay quiet you buffoons, keep your voices down. We only need to retrieve the one woman and try not to kill any of their people. Do that and these people will burn the western sector to the ground, slaughter us down to the last. Just follow me, grab Leucena and leave. When this is over, we lay low, book passage to Myrmien and the protection of the Gorgion.” Argades struggled to speak the words; he would have to sacrifice he independence to the main family. To bend his waist and accept submission, forced to give up upon domination of the capital to acquire what he had been longing for.
“Oy, I didun sign up fur this shit! I’m not dyin cuz of some woman! Fuck you and Fuck-” The thug didn’t get to finish his thoughts, blood cascading from the knife lodged in his throat. Not finished with the insubordinate knave, Argades struck again and again, silent fury radiating from his eyes as he rammed the blade repeatedly without mercy. After he was done, he raised his knife, not saying a word, daring anyone else to challenge his decision. There were none.
Having been presented with the alternative, the rest of the men fell into line, shadowing Argades as he crept along the walls, sticking to the shadows. They were amateurs in comparison to the defenders, had it not been for the chaos occurring all around, these men would never have made it past the wall. Yet now they were able to penetrate the outer areas with ease and gaining access to the atrium and the way to the bathing areas where the non-combatants were stowed away.
Argades understood that with such a chaotic battlefield anyone unable to fight would be stowed in the most secure location, the center of the building. His instincts which had carried him through much of his life proved effective yet again, soon finding himself before a handful of shackled fighters armed with wooden sticks and clubs.
“Hey, release us. Let us fight with you all, we can help you. If muscle be what you need, we got plenty here.” One of the prisoners called out to the group, desperately trying to appeal to the brigands.
“What should we do boss? Can we trust em?” No sooner had Damastor asked the question that Argades kicked the man to the ground and continued forward, leaving the shackled prisoners crying out. “We can’t trust any of those bastards to keep their word. If they go crazy and act out in revenge against the people in the next room; who do you think will be held responsible? And where are you going to get the key to release their shackles… are you going to take down those monsters outside?” Argades pushed past the prisoners, some just sat silently, edging away from the group, others lashed out in anger only to receive a harsh beating in return. They realized that these men had not defeated their captors, that they lacked the strength and were not in possession of the key. There would be no release from their bonds, understanding that reality caused them to toss down their weapons, knowing that their resistance and anger would only serve their captor’s purpose.
With the prisoner’s will to resist broken, Argades pushed past and arrived at his goal. Together with Damastor they cut down the wooden door to the screams of the women and children inside. Standing to oppose them were a ragtag group of men and women, as well as three injured soldiers and a couple of guards. At the front of this group was none other than Leucena, a wooden stave in hand, standing resolute before the non-combatants. “Argades, you disgusting ass… there is no place here for the likes of you. Take your brigands and leave, lest you feel the need to depart the land of the living.”
“Afraid I can’t do that my dear. I came here for what is mine by right! Come with me now and none of these people need to be hurt… refuse and we may need to make sure they have trouble walking again.” The sight of the blonde beauty filled the crime lord’s sight, desire obvious within his leering gaze. He cared little for the risk, no matter what he would take this woman, no matter the cost. She was his, and he would not lose her again.
