What they were doing was beyond madness. Even Regis understood it. However, there was nothing he could do to put a stop to it. Martell could see it in his commander’s eyes, the resentment, the disgust, the acceptance. But worst of all was the accusation in those piercing black eyes, the light-blue pupils tracking him as the Second moved away from the gathered Slayers. He simply could not partake in this lunacy, no matter how much the smell of burning blood and sizzling meat made his mouth water. He would ignore the pain in his empty stomach, at least for now. But hunger, Martell knew, wasn’t an enemy that could be conquered.

“You aren’t making any friends, Mar,” Inney’s voice surprised him.

He hadn’t seen when the elf had approached him. The elf had always been dangerous when moving at night, but now, it was like trying to track a ghost. Martell swallowed hard as he observed the woman bite through the bone of the finger she was chewing on. For a moment he feared that would lose control and leap for the delicious-looking morsel. The Second knew that Inney was faking the exaggerated gusty with which she sucked on the burned meat, baiting him into a fight.

“Sarduk was kind enough to sacrifice his arm so that we could eat,” the elf continued with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Besides, it’ll grow back in a few days. Just like Seth’s did. So, why do you still refuse to eat? Is starving to death that fun?”

No, it wasn’t, but Inney wouldn’t understand it. Six weeks without anything to eat was as much as any of them could take. Till was the first to suggest the idea of cannibalism, seeing that their god-like bodies were slowly failing them. The apothecary had offered his own flesh since he was the one to propose the horrible solution to their predicament. However, they had all agreed that risking anything happening to the old apothecary was a bad idea. That was why Seth had volunteered his arm. It hadn’t been enough to sedate the Slayers’ hunger, but it was better than nothing. Of course, Martell had vehemently refused to partake in this insanity, feeling that by doing so he would be sacrificing what little remained of his humanity.

He had survived the Bleak without crossing this line, preferring to suck the moss from the frozen rocks. However, Scoria offered nothing. The desert was as dead as the rotting bodies of its Hollow Gods. It wouldn’t be long before it broke the Second and forced him to bend his principles. Inney’s hissing voice reminded him that she was still talking.

“Mar! Are you listening to me?” She stepped closer and sniffed him like an animal, before smiling. “For a moment I thought you’d died on your feet. Not that it would surprise me. You’re the most stubborn bastard I know.”

The elf wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closer, purring in his ear. “The others might think you’re like them. But I know you, shalla. You’re much, much worse. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to survive.”

Martell pushed Inney away and had to restrain himself from taking a swing at her. Shalla had quite a few meanings that were hard to translate into the human tongue, however, he knew exactly what the elf meant. She only used it, when she wanted to wound him, knowing that he would not dare strike back because of the guilt he felt. And she was right.

“I’m not a part of your family, Inney!” The Second snapped. “Don’t pretend that I am.”

“But you are,” Inney threw away the mostly eaten finger into the sand. “After all, my sister chose you. The fact that Nina died because of you, doesn’t change that you’re unwanted but accepted.”

With a swift motion, the elf cut open the palm of her left hand, using her nails. As soon as it appeared, the dark blood began to coagulate, but its rich tempting scent made Martell’s head spin.

“I can’t lose you as well, shalla. Like it or not, you are my adopted kin.” For the first time, he detected genuine sadness in Inney’s voice.

It surprised and scared the Second in equal measures. Ever since she lost her sister, the elf had been cold towards him at the best of times. When had she changed? How had he missed it? There had to be signs…

“Inney forgave you for the death of her sister a very long time ago. It is only you who still blames you.” Regis’ words rang through his head. Martell had ignored them at the time, which felt like a lifetime ago, thinking that his friend was trying to ease his mind. Now, however, the Second was willing to accept them as true. But he was not ready to forgive himself, and if he was honest, Martell knew that he could never forgive himself.

“You refuse because it’s human flesh,” Inney continued, her expression turning sombre. “Then have mine. But I’ll not let you sacrifice yourself in the name of your idiotic morals. And I’ll not allow you to sacrifice Regis… He needs you, Mar.”

The plea in her voice stung him worse than a dagger’s kiss. She of all people should know that Regis didn’t need anyone. The man had the charisma and strength to rebuild the Slayers if he so wished. And now that he was as close to a god as anyone would ever see, there wouldn’t be a human who wouldn’t follow him.

“If you continue to refuse, the others will start to question his leadership. It’s a sin we all have to share.” Inney moved closer, her arm outstretched.

It was too much for Martell. He couldn’t resist any longer, and he hated the elf for this. But he could also the reason in her words. Or it might have been the hunger that made her words sound like there was reason contained within them. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time a human had consumed the flesh of an elf. Not the first time he had done it. With ease, the Second strangled the screaming voice of his consciousness and bit his teeth into the soft tissue of Inney’s hand.

Warm blood filled his mouth as the woman in front of him suppressed a scream of pain. Before he knew it, Martell had stripped most of the meat from her hand, leaving only bloody bones. And with this came the realisation that he was nothing more than a rabid animal. A monster disguising as a human. There was nothing he could say. No words were going to erase the disgust he felt. All he could do was look at Inney, as the elf dropped on the cold sand. In the end, Scoria defeated him.

 

 

Martell watched with detachment as another body was thrown into the fire. The only reason he even bothered to direct his attention to the massive pyre, was because of the young boy who had tried to tackle him. He saw Big Uhr’s fake smile as moved on to the next one. He watched as Lilly and Sonya stripped the clothing from the dead, while Mekset loaded another barrel with jewels and raw gems. However, there was no sign of the usual banter that accompanied the Slayers while they pillaged and looted what remained of Scoria-Erst.

Three years it took them to reach this place. Three years of suffering and loathing. The Slayers cheered as they saw the first signs of civilization. They cried in joy when the gates opened and the masses swarmed them like flies. Worshipping them. Asking for blessings. Offering food, actual food, and precious water. For a moment, Martell was convinced that all they had endured was worth it. It felt good to be considered saviours. Or at least that was how the mercenaries interpreted it.

But then came the rules of the city with their guards. Adored in their silks and silver and gold. Wielding the very weapons that belonged to the Slayers. Wearing their armour. Their charms. Their trophies. As if they belonged to them. It made the mercenaries’ blood boil, but they had to be sure. So, Regis asked.

“Trophies, divine ones,” the pompous fool, dressed like some garish pink bird, answered with glee. “Taken from the bodies of the unbelievers who dared to raise their hands at the Hollow Gods.”

Those words sealed their fate. The carnage continued for three days, but there was no one who could stand against the Godslayers. And by the time they were done, Scoria-Erst would become a burned-out tomb. If it was up to Martell, there would be no survivors, however, Regis had other plans. He wanted slaves to bring back to Hester City, as a gift. It boggled the mind why he would want to do such a thing, but that was why Regis was captain and Martell was Second. At least his friend was sensible enough to pick mostly children and adolescents. While Martell had the foresight to restrain the Slayers from burning down the docks and all the ships anchored at them.

He looked down at the young boy, still pelting him with his small, weak, skinny fists. Tired of the futile struggle of the creature, he snatched one of the arms and broke it, like one would a dry twig.

“Os?” The Second addressed the passing soldier, tasked with rounding up the slaves onto the ship the Slayers had commissioned.

“What?” The Faceless groaned before taking a look at the screaming child. “Nah. It’s not worth it. The arm will get infected and it will die before we reach the Scale Isles.”

“Are we going to search every cellar and shift through every ruined house?” Martell asked, sensing Regis coming from behind him. It was unnerving that he could feel whenever their captain was near, yet, it also eased his mind.

“No.” The man’s deep voice made the hairs on his arms stand. “I’ve tasked Nadene and your girl to deal with it.”

“Cylin is not my woman,” Martell turned to look at Regis, letting out a chuckle seeing the broad smile on his friend’s face.

“Sure, she’s not,” the leader of the mercenaries placed his hand on the Second’s shoulder. “That’s why she hasn’t fucked anyone but you in those three years.”

“She’s free to do what she wants in her spare time,” Martell shrugged. He couldn’t say that he loved the girl. Not truly.

“I’ve got to admit, I was wrong, Mar,” Regis sighed as both men walked towards the docks. “At first, I allowed Cylin to join us, just to indulge you, and because we were nineteen. But I had planned for the slave to fall on a sword as soon as someone more suitable showed up.”

“Is that a threat or a warning?” Martell stopped his hand curling into a fist.

“It’s honesty, my friend. You remember what that means, don’t you?” The captain chuckled. “I thought of asking Sarjak to do it, but settled on Os. After all, when you want a secret buried, you choose the one loyal to you.”

This was the warning, Martell noted. Trust was vital amongst the Slayers, that was true. But as Regis had pointed out, they were not all loyal to him first. And it was no secret whose orders Sarjak would follow. Sure, the murderer wouldn’t hesitate to do their commander’s bidding, as long as it didn’t go contrary to the Second’s wishes.

“The Faceless is a useful man,” Martell agreed, pretending nothing had happened. By the looks of it, Regis was only testing him.

“I don’t understand why he insists we use that nickname, now that he has a face,” the man dismissed his own comment with a wave. “It doesn’t matter. But, if I’m being honest, and I am. I’ve grown fond of little Cylin. She is quite the tool of destruction.”

Both men paused, as they spotted the woman in question. The former slave was in the process of unleashing her gifts on one of the ruined buildings. Before they wouldn’t have seen a thing, but their new eyes saw the air boil as the mage-in-training released a cloud of death, and the screams of the those hiding in the rubble reached their ears a minute later.

“Quite the sight, isn’t she?” Regis smiled.

“I suppose. However, beauty is fleeting,” Martell answered, choosing his words carefully. He could sense that there was more to what his friend was going to say and that a wrong answer would be very bad for both himself and Cylin.

“The question is, how will that beauty affect you if she gets out of control?”

“I’ll do what I must,” Martell answered without hesitation.

It wasn’t the answer Regis was expecting, but it wasn’t the wrong one either. The Second could see it on his captain’s face. Still, he had to wonder, why bring the topic now? There had to be a reason, it was that he couldn’t see it.

“I suppose, I have to thank Nina for teaching you that lesson,” Regis finally said before quickly raising his hands in apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pick a fight.”

“You’ve become morose, Mar. And the others are starting to notice it. They fear that something is wrong. And I have to admit, I was worried that little Cylin was poisoning your mind.”

“And?” Martell swallowed back the vitriol he wanted to unleash at the baseless accusation.

“I was mistaken,” Regis shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mar. I really am. You’ve done marvellous work keeping the Slayers in line over the last three fucking years. While I did nothing but plot and plan for the future… I shouldn’t have left you to carry this burden alone.”

“That’s why I’m Second.”

“That doesn’t excuse my failure as a leader!” Regis shouted with more anger than Martell thought necessary.

“There’s nothing I can reward you with for this, only ask for your forgiveness. There’s no one I could trust more than you and Inney.”

It wasn’t what the Second expected. He thought Regis would speak about duty and loyalty. About the Twenty Dragon Gods, the Ferrex tribe worshipped. But to see the man apologize and beg for forgiveness was shocking. He was the mighty warrior Regis. He took everything for granted because he believed it to be his. To see him like this made Martell realise how much crossing Scoria had changed them. And it made him worry about the future. The Second tried to find the correct words, but there was nothing. All he did was place a hand on Regis’ shoulder.

“Thank you, Mar,” the man smiled at him continuing as if nothing had happened. “Anyway, you need some rest. We all do. But that’s why we’re going home.”

 

 

Viin’s head was a mess. She was having a hard time distinguishing between what was a dream and what was reality. Well, the scenes of fathomless cruelty and pain were definitely a part of the nightmares that plagued her ever since the Goddess announced that she was her aunt. The events of what happened after the dinner at the palace and before boarding the expensive atmospheric yacht of the Fredrik Institute were a blur in her mind. Everything happened so fast, that Viin was willing to convince herself that it was just a part of the nightmare that had waken her up a handful of minutes ago.

For the love of all that was holy, her employer and his friends had proclaimed themselves as Dragons. Honestly, the petite elf wasn’t too sure could dismiss that as an outlandish claim, and as such was willing to place it in the reality category. But then, they threatened the emperor himself inside of the bloody palace and made out with his daughter like thieves. That had to be a part of Viin’s dreams. However, Her Imperial Highness Aula Hester was quietly sleeping in the seat next to her.

Quickly, Viin reached for her trusted data pad and opened the news feed. There had to be something, anything, about what happened in the palace. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except for the usual pre-recorded news about how great the ceremony was. Then an article from the business section caught her eyes and she hastily opened it.

“The business world is in shock after this morning’s announcement that Lady Aula Hester will take a spot on the board of directors of the Fredrik Institute...” The news caster’s voice echoed from the device, forcing Viin to scramble for the headpiece she kept in her pocket.

“Some of the major noble houses have expressed concern with the actions of emperor Janek XIV, quoting the Anti-Monopoly Act and the Limitation of Imperial Power Decree that has been in effect for the last hundred and five years. While others have suggested that His Imperial Highness is trying to abolish the Decree and return the Dominion under the sole control of the Throne.”

This was wrong. Nothing but lies. If anything, Aula Hester had been kidnapped and her employer and the Altstarks were extorting the emperor. Viin’s mind raced to comprehend what she had just heard. At this rate, Janek XIV would be forced to resign in favour of his son, and the nobility would place a temporary regent until Irwin III came of age. Of course, the sleeping princess next to her would be stripped of all her titles and would be forced to relinquish all claims to the throne.

Instinctively, the elf snapped her head away from the screen, just to see Lilly Altstark standing at the other end of the room. The green lens of her cybernetic eye studied Viin with unhealthy curiosity. She felt like a cornered animal and the only problem was that the predator chasing her didn’t plan to kill her.

“You don’t want to miss this, little bird,” Lilly’s smile sent chills down her spine.

A moment later the wall to Viin’s right turned transparent, revealing a jaw-dropping view. Hundreds of three- and four-story-high buildings, glistened like silver in the morning sun. Surrounding them was a seemingly endless barren desert that from this heigh almost looked like a sea of molten bronze. Only one place on the Homeworld had remained untamed and savage – Scoria. The name alone was enough to evoke feelings of dread and longing in Viin’s heart.

“Breath-taking, isn’t it?” Inney’s voice startled her, as her aunt spoke in her ear. Dressed in something that was a little more than underwear, the Goddess waved her hand at the unmistakable Fredrik Institute.

“Welcome home.”