Walking through the halls of the Palace of Debauchery, Tombgrief has caught himself thinking that he hates this place. Founded within a ruined base uncovered by a sandstorm, it served as the current seat of power for his excellency Reben, the vicious strikesoul of the luminous princess Ahya. Power dynamics were weird in the Dominions. Armed groups formed and served the royal family at will, vying between each other for the scraps of the royals’ grace before breaking out when they felt that someone else offered a better deal. Only his late excellency, General Kriegshaw, offered true stability and safety in these turbulent times.
But Kriegshaw was dead, and so too was Tombgrief’s brother, Tombteeth. And now vultures were busy plucking the remains of a once strong and prosperous dukedom, eager to lay claim to the fattest pieces before others. This left Tombgrief, the mirrored image of his late brother, in need of a new master, one who could protect his lands and offer a firm guiding hand. He had started to believe that he had chosen… poorly.
Whereas his excellence Gaexus embraced everything about pain, Reben adored everything about pleasure. Even his stomping steps could not silence the infernal cacophonic orchestra of mixed harps, pianos, balalaikas, gramophones, women singing, maddening cackles, guitars, and a host of other musical instruments tormenting his poor ears. A smell of narcotics floated in the air, forcing the Changed to frown in disgust, through the near-pitch darkness of the palace’s internal Tombgrief could see shapes dancing in the corridors—Changed, Naturalborns, and humans all together, lost in the moment. Most disgustingly, his own soldiers were here, giggling and drooling, grabbing invigorating drugs from the vases scattered all around the place.
Shaking his head in disgust, Tombgrief stepped into the main hall, welcomed by the smell of sweat and pleasurable moans of dozens of bodies lying on the floor, caressing and procreating in a never-ending orgy of pleasure. Singers, both male and female, danced among them before switching places with someone among the Joyous Court, sycophants serving their debased master. All kinds of people were present here, Naturalborns, Changed and even humans. The cattle enjoyed the same pleasures as their masters, drinking deeply from the debauchery spread all around the chamber.
And there, at the dais across the entrance, stood his throne, clouded in the pink fumes of some burning, arousing incense. Mendal, the Naturalborn who gave birth to Reben, stood next to the throne, holding a cloth to her mouth and looking at the surrounding scene with a mix of disgust and anger in her purple eyes. Thin steel plates covered her body from her neck to her armored boots, doing little to hide her impressive physique. Two curved swords, almost as big as his axes, waited their turn in her scabbards.
Her presence always surprised Tombgrief. Unlike Changed, Naturalborns had no love for either their offspring or parents, blood ties meant next to nothing for them. Mendal had tried to kill her son along with her former husband twice before Reben grew bored of their attempt and ate his father alive, leaving his mother alive once she swore her undying loyalty and gave her back all control over his lands, only rarely enforcing his will. Mendal’s loyalty meant nothing. Tombgrief himself had ended the life of an assassin who claimed to be serving Lady Mendal. Reben only laughed at this revelation, inviting his mother to partake in debauchery before his throne and relax.
The Geld Duke saw him, gesturing with a wine cup for him to step forward. Six beautiful women in white robes have gathered around his throne, caressing his legs, singing praises in his name, and leaving kisses on his gilded armor. Some of them massaged Geld Duke’s ears and neck.
“My dear captain! Please, do not sully yourself by prostrating before us! Come here, come here!” bellowed a beautiful mix of male and female voice, a hand with the skull of his father, covered with silver and turned into a cub, beckoned the Changed to come closer.
I wasn’t planning to grovel. Tombgrief bit his tongue, angrily kicking aside a sheepish-looking Changed. It took all his composure not to let his axes drink deep and full of the blood of this degrader. One of his own soldiers reduced to this drooling state of sullying herself and hugging a human! Disgusting! The discipline in his forces has been eroding with every passing day. But he never dared to say anything.
I’ll become the captain of the rabble at this point. Tombgrief came to stand before the throne made of dark crystal, looking at the sheer wrongness of his liege. Male Naturalborns had black skin and orange eyes, and females had green skin and purple eyes. Reben’s skin had a shade of green to it, orange and purple fought for control over his eyes, sharing the iris equally. His body bulged with muscles, soaked by wine and oiled by soft perfume. Despite all this, he had an androgynous, almost feminine look that sparked a desire in both male and female Naturalborns all across the land. Thirty years—far longer than most Naturalborns lived in the Desolation—of abusing every possible narcotic substance he could get left no marring on Reben’s near-perfect visage. Each of his moves betrayed barely restrained might, hidden behind a mocking facade meant to invite new challengers.
Reben’s wrongness never stopped with just his body. When Naturalborn were born, their animalistic nature was supposed to drive them to eat their weaker brothers and sisters and then be chased away by their parents, ensuring that the strongest lineage would linger. Reben was born with intelligence and instead subdued his kin, and now they too enjoy a life of debauchery somewhere in this palace. He surrounded himself with beautiful virgins from the ranks of humans, but never indulged himself with any of them. Rumors say he refused even Ahya’s offers, earning himself the title of Geld Duke, although no one was stupid enough to call him that to his face. The last one to call him that was his father, and everyone knew how this turned out.
“It’s been days, my captain! What would you like—a grape, a cup of wine, a seat, a piece of meat, or maybe a woman or a man? Ask, and it shall be granted, my loyal servant!” In a feminine voice, Reben asked, the slice of his lips running all the way to his ears. He hugged six virgins around him, enjoying their laughter. “Just not these, they are my muses, you see.”
I’d like your throne. Tombgrief thought sourly, betting that he could be a better ruler than this degenerate. But he swore an oath, and so he said: “A patrol party got eaten. I’d like your permission to investigate and deliver retribution.”
“How horrible!” The Geld Duke shrieked in a feminine voice, hugging laughing women closer to him. “What sort of vile villain dared to do this! Tell us everything, can’t you see the mother is worried sick at the news!” He finished in a male voice, earning a look of scorn from Mendal.
Steeling himself and trying not to inhale pink fumes, Tombgrief told everything he knew, from a patrol that went to check on the abandoned village after supposedly noticing a pair of villagers, to how they found their remains, eaten by insectoids hours later.
“This summarizes my report, my lord. Clearly, an insectoid queen went wild. With your permission, I will hunt it and…”
“No,” Reben smiled, putting forward his weird, two-colored palm, a strange flame dancing in his eyes. “Don’t you dare tire yourself out any further, my loyal protector. Mother is itching to avenge our fallen, and so, as her loyal son, I shall accompany her on this noble quest of retribution!”
“Reben,” Mendal hissed, taking the cloth off her face. “Stop this foolishness! With Tirezi gone, Gaexus is wide open for a strike. Stop fooling around and eat the cattle.” She threw a look full of hatred at the women, “Then gather the soldiers and wait for…”
“But they love me, mother!” Reben retorted with fake horror. “You can’t kill someone you love, right, dear mother? And you can’t trick me, oh most humble one. I can see your heart bleeding at the thought of losing our dear soldiers, soldiers whom glorious Ahya will need in the days ahead to end the vile masochist. Say no more, your hint is understood! Quickly, quickly, we march fast!”
The Geld Duke jumped off the throne, a long purple cape spreading from his shoulders like a royal mantle. Spreading his hands wide, he let his muses wrap his cruel nine-headed crimson lash around his right wrist. Each lash’s tail ended up with a skull encased in steel belonging to one of the Naturalborns who tried to usurp Reben’s reign. Wounding his lash around his hand and allowing his women to give him a passing kiss, Reben jumped, nimbly like a cat, and made a gracious somersault in the air, landing behind Tombgrief. The Geld Duke’s waist hit the Changed’s back, sending him onto the throne.
“Keep my seat warm and rule in my mother’s name until we come back. And do keep my muses safe from harm, or I’ll eat even your bone marrow, my dearest friend,” Reben laughed, striding down the stairs, the cape flowing behind him.
“My liege, I would not…” Tombgrief bit down on his words, noticing Mendal’s longing expression and how two shadows were rising from behind the Geld Duke’s back just as he turned to look at them in the middle of the royal chambers.
Two Changed, not from his unit, faked their mindless arousal and now aimed their claws at the back of Reben’s neck. Just a quick cut, and he’ll be free to serve under someone more reasonable, more stable, and…
“Watch out, my lord!” Tombgrief jumped from the throne, inhaling accursed fumes and feeling his blood turn to fire. Damnation to all, but his loyalty was all! Once given, he could never take it back.
The Geld Duke leaned back, hands spread, dodging the claws with his almost impossible speed. His lash unwound and cracked in the air, following his swing. The skulls let out demonic howls thanks to a curious pattern of holes made across the skulls. With morbid anticipation, Tombgrief watched the scene unfold, preparing to see countless victims of the lash’s wrath.
The skulls hit the floor and ceiling, ricocheting from them and coming back on the killers, striking at their limbs and bodies and flawlessly missing everyone else on the floor. The attackers howled in pain as the lash’s razor-sharp edges separated both flesh and bone, leaving armless and legless stumps flying through the air. With an elegant move, Reben allowed his lash’s coils to close around one assassin, carrying the screaming cripple to the ceiling, where she came apart in a shower of gore, leaving a blood smear against a stone. The second one got caught up in Reben’s free hand.
“Ruffian, hooligan, vulgar!” A feminine voice shouted into the pained face. “Who dared send you against me? Who?!”
“Glory… To Mendal…” The Changed whispered.
“Liar!” A male voice bellowed, and the Geld Duke pushed the Changed closer to his face, almost as if he was about to kiss him. Reben’s maw opened, showing a series of countless fangs, each as thin as a needle. The Changed never had the time to scream. Reben’s jaws closed on his face, chomping through flesh, crashing through jaws, turning his skull into broken pieces, and finally finding a soft brain within. Tearing it away, Reben looked at his mother, smiling with a face filled with the Changed’s blood and meat. “Worry not, dear mother. Your worried look for my safety has alerted me to this assault vilest. His lies would never sow discord between us. After all, what mother would dare to harm her own blood? Mothers love their children!” The Geld Duke announced in a male voice.
Mendal just stood there, looking coldly at the dead killers’ bodies and ignoring the posturing of her despised child. The sycophants lying everywhere paid no attention to the slaughter that happened all around them, keeping moaning and cradling with each other in blissful ignorance as the dancers kept jumping over them, transparent clouds of silk following in their wakes along with each magnificent turn. Mendal’s purple eyes betrayed no emotion as the muses hurried to their benefactor, wiping his face clean of all filth, but both Tombgrief and Reben saw her fingers twitching. Just once.
Reben let out a sound, a mix between a groan and a chuckle. His gaze turned to Tombgrief, asking in a feminine voice: “What say you? Am I correct, my loyal friend?”
“I wouldn’t know, not a family man….” Tombgrief felt his world spin. Inhaling the strange fumes, he felt weakness, slumping on the throne in exasperation. Disappointment in the passing days, despair at the deaths of Kriegshaw and his dearest brother, and the sadness of having to beg for protection all washed over him, drawing tears of sorrow from his eyes. Never in his life had he cried. Not when his brother shattered his spine. Not when the insectoid warrior pierced his stomach with its blades. And now he cried like some defective baby, hearing his own sobs at how his life could have turned out if he had only abandoned his loyalty and taken charge for once. The muses flowed to him, looking like clouds of white smoke, wiping the tears from his eyes.
His heart let out a mighty beat, almost jumping from his chest. A searing flame of ambition fired through the Changed’s veins, granting him newfound power to stand and raise his arms to the ceiling. It wasn’t late! The life will surely turn his way! Feeling a surge of pride threatening to burst him wide open, Tombgrief roared for the entire world to hear:
“I will turn this place into a proper domain, my liege! No longer will your degeneracy taint this place, hindering our growth! Our villages grow ever bigger, our armies once more know discipline, our coffers will be filled with riches unmatched, our people will feel pride and safety once more, and I… I…” He stopped, his superior biology had finally overcome and flushed out the filth polluting his thoughts. Standing taller than the Geld Duke, he shuddered like a lamb before slaughter, realizing what he just said.
“Most ambitious! Bravo! Bravo, my loyal friend!” Reben theatrically clapped to him, wounding his lash once more and throwing one side of his cape over his shoulder. “Mother and I are eagerly awaiting to see this change of yours upon our inevitable triumphant return. Well, onward, dear mother, I am leading the way and safeguarding your passage!” The Geld Duke marched out of the chamber, leaving his back wide open for following Mendal.
Tombgrief looked around, filled with shock that turned into rage. Kicking the braziers, filled with this accursed incense, away from him, his axes trembled from fear and uncertainty. Never again. Never again will he taste this disgusting filth that forced him into betraying his loyalty. Responsibility. Sure, he had his delusions of grandeur, but his sole responsibility was the war and nothing more. And now he must create. He did not know how to build anything aside from a war camp or patrol routes or…
“Ledger! Bring me the accounting ledger!” He looked at the confused women, whispering weakly at a sudden horrible realization. “Do we even have one? Maybe it is named differently? Treasure book? Something else? You know, the thing to keep count of our valuables?”
Stepping down, he gave kicks to the lying figures, shouting that their partying was over. He calmly demanded that servants ventilate the palace and gather around him. Through his loyalty, he’ll see the Geld Duke’s order come to pass. Build a proper domain? Sure, only he had no idea how to do it. The muses clung to him like parasites they were, whispering to him the numbers of villages and names of their elders, recounting the supply routes and the number of soldiers in Reben’s employ. Some of their suggestions were unorthodox, but despaired as he was, Tombgrief has accepted some of their suggestions, planning to implement anything he could if this would save his hide. Even working with humans.
Once his court assembled, Tombgrief almost wished he could join Kriegshaw and Tombteeth in their last battle. Why must he bear this indignity and mockery now? Clearly, his liege knows that he’ll fail! Why couldn’t the general take Tombgrief with him? Had he ever shown anything but loyalty? Can’t life once, just once, turn out normal for him? With a heavy sigh, Tombgrief turned to work.
