Chapter 1: Revenant

 

Her mangled corpse, it was all Allion could look at. 

 

Laying there on the ground, limbs twisted and broken, head hanging at a crooked angle, and staining the ground with her life essence was the love of his life, his soulmate. His entire vision, his entire world was that of Raine. His beautiful, sweet, kind, lovely Raine. Her tangled mass of raven hair, which once hung down to the small of her back, now lay with her in a similar state of ruin. Chunks were missing, revealing her bloody torn scalp. Her eyes of wonderful blue, that shone like the surface of a river, the light that danced in them that could rival that of the stars in heaven was now nonexistent. Not even a glimmer remained. Her body, perfectly formed, something that used to drive him insane every time he or another man looked at her, was gutted. Her entrails pooled out in a steaming heap. She was still wearing her smock and apron. He could see the flower of the morning’s bread still coating it and parts of her face. Her high cheekbones were covered in cuts, and her full lips were torn in various places. Bruises covered her strong jaw, which hung slightly open, yet more blood slowly dribbled from her mouth.

 

Allion himself was in just as sorry of a state. Both his legs were shattered, twisting in multiple gruesome angles. His hands were pinned to the ground by two spears. These were no simple pikes of wood and steel, however. No, these spears were made out of twisted and warped bone, like they had been sharpened from the remains of some ancient beast. They were not of sturdy make either, they splintered and cracked where they met Allion’s ruined hands and the blood-soaked ground.

 

The longsword that was driven hilt deep into his chest and ground was not of that ilk. Its shadowy pattern welded blade was so fine that it had likely taken months if not years to form. The silver hilt and handle sat as stern contrast, like a shard of moonlight against the void of a night sky. Allion had only been able to glimpse that blade, nearly two meters in length, for mere seconds before it had been used to snuff the candle of his life. Yet that flame persisted, if feebly and in futility. 

 

Why? Was it out of the sheer will to survive? Spite? Anger? A combination of all those things? No. It was for the only other object of his attention. A few meters from the corpse of him and his wife, because frankly, that’s what he was, stood a man, no, an elf, and a young girl maybe twelve years of age. Her raven hair was a mess, clots of blood and grime rife through the tangled tresses. High cheekbones and a stately jaw, a nearly perfect image of her mother. Allion would sometimes wonder if there was any of him in his daughter, until of course he would gaze into her green eyes that sparkled like shattered glass, those eyes that were a mirror of his own. His lovely mischievous daughter, his Willow. Currently, those wonderful eyes were filled with abject horror and trauma as that poor child stared at the bodies of her parents. Her small wrist was clenched tightly in the fist of the elf, golden skin and brass hair shining oh too brightly in that dark and dingy scene. His handsome face sat empty of emotion. He treated each action, each move like it was strictly business. Whether it was personally planting that sword in Allion’s chest, or dragging his daughter and wife from the nearby cellar. Soldiers dressed in uniform shining sets of silvered plate armor milled about the desolated town. They were very clearly loyal to the elf, or at the very least under his command. Still, the elf did certain tasks himself that one would normally relegate to an underling. 

 

Allion watched as a beautiful jet-black mare was led to the elf. No saddle sat upon her regal back, and no bit sat in her mouth. She was like a piece of untamed darkness. It was likely that it was the most beautiful horse Allion had ever seen. The elf scooped Willow under his arm and lept upon the back of the mare in one graceful bound. He called to a soldier below him, a person distinguished from their comrades by the large cobalt plume that sat upon the top of their helmet. 

 

“Captain, normally I wouldn’t leave anything to chance. However, our lord requires my presence. Clear the rest of the town, and leave not one witness. I’m giving you this chance. Do not disappoint me.” The elf’s voice was smooth and melodic, each word holding deadly weight and a lethal edge.

 

The captain responded in a brusque heavy voice. “Yes, my lord. It will be done.” He saluted by crossing his fist over his heart and bowing. With that, the elf turned and rode off, Willow sat firmly in his lap. Rage and panic filled Allion. He tried to move, to do anything, but his body would not respond. He was already dead, his mind and soul had just not realized it yet. So he did what all desperate men do, he prayed. He asked for some man of legend, some warrior of old, a god, a demon, anything or anyone to come and save his daughter from whatever fate laid before her.

 

But nobody came. In those final moments, as his vision turned black, Allion thought about how powerless he was. How if he had been stronger, then no one would have been able to take his loves from him. Tears found their way down his face for the last time, in the same way, that was the last time Allion Bomar would draw breath.

 

It was his last moment, but it was not the end of his story.

 

His eyes opened once more, to find his body free of injury and that he was on his back in a shallow pool of warm water, his torn and bloody clothes nowhere to be seen. Small ripples lapped at his skin as he stared into a sky of golden stars and swirling silver nebulae. It was truly awesome, a sight out of the legends his gran told him when he was but a child. Slowly he rose to a sitting position, taking the opportunity to gaze upon his surroundings. That’s when he saw them. Two women, both astonishingly beautiful, stood together looking in his direction. One he recognized instantly, her wounds too had not followed her to this place. 

 

To her left was a woman he could only describe as fury incarnate. Her red hair flowed like liquid fire, sparks of gold even seemed to bounce from her loosely curled trestles every so often. It ran its way down to her thighs, untamed and unbroken. The glimmering blue of her eyes shone even brighter than the stars above him. A small smile danced across her full lips, their red counter to her pale skin. Her full-figured body was draped in a thin revealing black dress. Unlike the two other people present, she stood barefoot in a small pool of blood. Its source was no mystery, as she leaned on an ornate and massive sword as if it was a staff. It flashed glorious silver, its blade wider than the shoulders of an adult man. Fresh blood flowed down the large fuller of the sword and into the water below, causing the pool at her feet. She wiggled back and forth in place as if she was impatiently waiting for something.

 

Allion had never been a religious man, his life rarely involved the need to plead with gods. However, even he could recognize one of the twins of consequence. The woman to Raine’s left was Kala, Goddess of Vengeance. She played with the emotions of those wronged, her clerics and priests acting as a network that could help anyone seek vengeance for any slight the goddess deemed worthy. Of the ten gods of the people of the continent of Yrin, Kala was by far the least respected. She, of course, was still treated with due respect but was not worshiped alongside the other nine, that included her twin Nokela, Goddess of Justice. To be a worshiper of Kala was to accept a certain thirst for death. She was a goddess of war, of rage, of hate. To actively ask for her aid was to give into these dark principles. Her clerics and priests were often shunned from polite society because of this, and open worship was frowned upon. And so Kala was often not directly involved with mortals, despite her domain being so core to humanity itself.

 

Allion stood and approached his wife and the forsaken goddess. The warm water lapped at his ankles as he walked, splashing the only sound that could be heard in that strange and beautiful place. In mere moments he stood before his fallen love, speechless yet with so much to say. 

 

She acted first as she fell into his arms. “Allion… there was nothing more you could do. You fought hard my love, and you fought till there wasn’t a single breath left in your body.” He said nothing, 

 

But surprisingly the goddess spoke his thoughts for him in a voice like the seductive lace of his wife’s lingerie. “But he failed. In the end, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t save you, he couldn’t save his daughter, and he couldn’t even save himself. He was too weak, and he knows it.”

 

Raine immediately leaped to his defense, hugging her husband even tighter. “That’s not true! He took two armed and armored men down with him, with nothing but a wood axe! He did what he could! Any man would have-”

 

“She’s right.” He said quietly, leaning into her shoulder.

 

Rain pushed him back and held him at arm's length, looking him squarely in the eyes. “No, she’s not! You-”

 

“If I had been stronger, I could have saved you. I could have saved Willow from whatever gods forsaken fate lies before her. I failed. I failed as a father. I failed as a husband.” He paused, tears filling his eyes once more.

 

“I failed as a man.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the goddess smirking. He snapped at her. “What? Something more to add?”

 

She looked him up and down. “What are you going to do about it? Your failure that is.”

 

He looked away and mumbled. “What’s there to do? As you can tell, I’m dead.”

 

“Oh my sweet child, you won’t be “dead” for very much longer.” She wiggled in place a little faster. “You are on the verge of undeath.”

 

“What?” Both Allion and Raine gaped in disbelief and horror. Allion managed to find the words to respond, however. “Undead? A… monster?”

 

“A revenant to be specific.” She wiggled again as if something had excited her. “Your rage and your thirst for vengeance are so strong that in a few minutes, you will rise from the dead.” She licked her lips slowly. “Revenants are so very rare and so very dangerous. But they are by all accounts my kindred. Though sadly, upon your resurrection, you will lose all sense of self. You will be a mindless force of death and fury, stopping at nothing to achieve your vengeance.”

 

She paused and stopped leaning on her massive sword. Kala stretched and then opened her arm as if to embrace the couple. Then she spoke, in a commanding voice that shook the very space they stood in. “And so we come to the climax of our meeting, why you and your wife have appeared before I the forsaken goddess. I heard your plea and sensed your anger. You, who have been subject to the horrors of mortals and seek your justice above all else will become an unbridled force of rage and destruction that will stop at nothing to achieve its revenge. This is a fate you cannot avoid. So allow me to hone you. Let me allow you your mind and morals. All I ask is that you do my work while you seek vengeance. Become the hero you prayed for a few moments ago. Bring my wrath upon this cruel and unyielding world. In return, when all is through and your goals are completed, I will grant you and your love a place at my table. Your name will become legend, with my help. Do you accept Allion Bomar, the smith of Kurin, you who seeks to bring pain to those who have wronged you?"

 

Allion looked over at Raine, then at the goddess. With no hesitation, he knelt and bowed his head. “I do.”

 

Kala scoffed. “No trepidation? You’ll be leaving your wife here with me, and you will not see her again until your work is done.”

 

Head still bowed, Allion chuckled. “We’re dead, it's not like I’ll never return,” Allion narrowed his eyes, and growled. “And if it means that I avenge her, and save my daughter at the same time, then I see no reason not to accept.”

 

The goddess smiled, her wild eyes filling with amusement with the shadow of something else hiding in that paralyzingly cold blue. “Then awake my champion, and be reborn.” She left her post leaning on her sword and approached the kneeling man. He did not raise his head and closed his eyes, as she bent at the waist and softly placed a kiss on his crown. A flash of light burst forth, and Allion’s eyes opened again.

 

Pain was the first thing he felt. Unimaginable pain.

 

He was once again lying with his hands speared to the ground and the sword to the hilt in his chest. To his right still lay the brutalized corpse of his wife. The soldiers still moved about the smoldering town, but there was no sign of any other life. Bodies were being piled nearby, seemingly being prepared to be burnt in one massive pyre. Two of the said soldiers began to walk towards him.

 

Allion laid still and listened as the soldiers spoke. “Two more. How many people lived in this village?” asked one, his voice like the old grindstone Allion once used.

 

“Three hundred and twenty-three, around a third of which were children” Answered the other, his voice much smoother and seemingly younger.

 

The elder motioned towards Allion with a simple hand wave. “Poor sod. Wonder what he did to deserve that?”

 

“That one? He fought back, and pretty well seeing as he only had an ax made for chopping kindling. He managed to take down both Gregor and Farley before the lord killed him.” He stretched his neck and sighed. “Anyway, I doubt we can get that sword out of him, so its best just to leave well enough alone. The scavengers will get it for us. Let’s grab the other one, toss her on the pyre and get home. I need some rest after today.” The other one grunted in approval.

 

Other one? Her? Allion thought. Then it dawned on him, they must have meant Raine. They were going to burn her with all the others. She wouldn't even get a proper burial. But that was a lesser worry of the undead man. Rage filled him at the very thought of them even touching her again. Allion began to move, to struggle, to fight, to get up and stop the defilers. His clammy hands reached up and grabbed the hilt of the sword that held him in place. And with one mighty, desperate, scream…

 

…he pulled it loose from the ground, ripping his body again. But he had removed that foul pin, and so he turned it on his targets. Those who dare to speak of his wife, his love, his Raine as if she had not mattered, as if her death meant nothing.

 

The soldiers reared back in fear, both stumbling and falling to the bloodstained ground. The elder cried out for help, the younger sat frozen unable to make a sound. Allion descended upon them with all the fury of a hurricane. He raised that elegant longsword and brought it down, then again…

 

…and again…

 

…and again…

 

…and again…

 

Over and over he hacked into the bodies of the defilers as they screamed in pain and terror. He hewed them until their cries had long fallen silent. A group of those poor fellows comrades had formed a circle around Allion, all too paralyzed to move to stop him. When he was through, he removed the sword from a bit of pulverized flesh with a wet sound and ferally turned towards his audience. Blood dripped down his face and fell from his chin, his pale skin was stained red. Allion growled and swung wildly at the crowd, who had gathered far from his reach. The men raised their weapons, spears, swords, halberds, and axes, and backed away a few steps. Took an unsteady step and swung again. The soldiers looked at each other, and finally found their courage, holding their ground. Allion’s blood-crazed mind to this as a challenge, as an affirmation that they were his enemies. 

 

He charged the group of around ten men in front of him with reckless abandon. They readied themselves for his charge, causing Allion to tear himself upon their weapons. Swords cut his arms, spears pierced his torso, axes hewed his legs, but he kept swinging that sword. Men fell before him, covered in there, their comrades, and Allion’s blood. Once the last of the ten fell, Allion turned to find the rest of the group bearing down upon his now tattered form. He flew into combat in the same manner as before…

 

…but this time it did not end in the brutal death of his foes.

 

Allion was horrendously injured from the melee just moments before, and as such posed much less of a challenge for the rest of the soldiers. He killed one and gravely injured another before he was cut down, slain once again. And so, Allion Bomar died for the second time that day.

 

The soldiers retreated from the town without finishing their mission, and the broken village sat empty and silent for the next two days. Carrion birds began to circle and feed upon the rotting corpses of the villagers but seemed to stay a distance from Allion and Raine Bomar. But life returned to the village the dawn of the second day after its destruction. Allion sat up gasping for air, his wounds healed and the sword laying by his side. 

 

He sat there for a time, he couldn’t tell how long, but finally, he stood. He planted the sword, his sword, his retribution, in the blood-caked soil and lightly scooped his love into his arms. He found a shovel in what had been his cellar and went to work. He knew where to put her to rest.

 

He walked in silence to a hill that sat looking over the valley and the nearby Kel river. On that hill sat a willow tree. He looked upon that tree and clenched his teeth as memories flooded into him. They had met here at the tender age of seven, almost twenty-five years ago. They had shared their first kiss here. This was the first place they made love. This is where he had proposed marriage, and where she had accepted him. This place was so special to the couple that they had even named their daughter after the tree that sat upon this hill. And it would be the place where he buried her.

 

He finally wept as he dug her grave, taking his time to get it right, to give her a proper burial. A day had passed when he had finished, and a proper cairn marked where Raine lay waiting for him. Large granite stones from the river bed covered her grave, and on the center boulder, a rock as wide as his wingspan sat her epitaph.

 

“Here lies Raine Bomar, beloved wife, and mother. Taken too soon from this world.”

 

Allion sat by her grave for another half a day, tears never ceasing their trek down his face, until finally, he stood. He reached out and picked the longsword from the ground, holding it by the blade near the guard so tightly that it cut into his palm.

 

Without a word he walked down the hill in the direction the elf had taken his daughter.