Fordu had followed the Sacred Forest coastwards.

  And of course it would be coastwards. Was Holly aware of the direction her subconscious would always bring her?

  ...What right had him to speak, really? When had he last caught so much as a glimpse of her form, spindly shape scurrying like a scared animal through shrubbery before utterly vanishing from sight? By his estimates, over an hour ago, but with every passing second in this forsaken pit the less he trusted his own mind, sense of time and space most of all.

  Fordu didn't know the Sacred Forest beyond its general layout, its cities, its roads, and neither did Holly. A hopeful part of him would much prefer to think the reason he crossed paths with her in the first place was that both had become lost, seeking an exit they would pass again and again, the weirdness all around them a mere coincidence.

  Needless to say, however, that he knew better. Fordu had been taught to make do, to always remember landmarks, to search for them from up high when necessary, to chart himself by the constellations if needs required.

  He looked up, at the vast cosmos above, at the resplendent waning moon and the first of its fingerprints revealed, all bathed in golden. The Usurpation had been complete, and they never realized they had been traipsing in the enemy's Domain all along.

  Never in his life had Fordu expected to see a Citrine Domain. In fact, like many of others in the Sect, he had been of the belief that they had become physically impossible for all intents and purposes. It did explain the chief reason he had found himself without direction though.

  Life pulsed around him in an orgy so cacophonous it rendered him deaf and blind.

  He had witnessed the stampedes brought by the displeasure of the divine more than once, so it was not hard to imagine all nearby wildlife had been caught in their flight. Animals of all sizes, of all makings, cried and screamed and fucked and killed and fought and played, in the air and in the ground and beneath and in the branches and the leaves, self destructive throes and heat and mindless indulgence that made some literally drop dead from exhaustion.

  Amidst this frenzy, Fordu had become stuck, unable to find where it began nor where it ended. Or rather, when it had come to him, where it had brought him. They dogged his steps far too closely to lack intent, some even using his body as a stand for their rut, trying to climb into his armor and bite into his skin, before learning why exactly that was a bad idea. It was fortunate that he did not need eyes to see, one of his ears had been clogged by the likes of ants and gnats seeking softer bits of flesh to gnaw.

  Swatting the air with a hand, the swarm he felled was immediately replaced by another. He could not allow himself to remain this vulnerable, not when such dangerous enemies might be just around the corner. A gamble came to mind, one with the risk of pushing Holly further away from him, but with no other recourse, he had to try.

  Silently, Hagan snuck out of his Mark.

  The change was not as immediate as he hoped. Some of the creatures around he recognized as Low-Phantasm, beings more closely connected to the Lesser Planes than usual but still firmly of the physical world, and even the dread the Diaborium blade's emergence should cause couldn't distract them from their needs. Little by little, though, a certain disinterest fell over the creatures, some who moved on, others who now climbed and fought over his body more as a fixture of their environment then an attraction.

  He allowed Hagan to plop tip first to the ground before grabbing a hold of its handle. For something that should be unknowable to him, it was hard to knock the sense of palpable ennui emerging from the blade. Though it had its feel little more than a week ago, signs of hunger made themselves known in the form of soft acrid yellow growths, and crystallized, greenish rust.

  This wasn't the time to ponder the minutia of the Devil's Filthy Lead. Fordu looked around himself, not recognizing the place he had come to stop at. The bodies of countless vermin surrounded him, some untouched in their deathly exhaustion, some mutilated beyond recognition, others in a between state as they were devoured alive by myriad crawling shapes.

  Where should he go now? Holly would not have the same intrinsic defenses against the Domain he had unless she could actively fight it off, though he wasn't sure how possible that was. Should he follow the animals then? Chances are, she too was a target, being led around to whichever destination. He turned to the thick of the swarm, diving in-

  He never made it. At least this time he had been alert to the attack before it reached him.

  Hagan flew, the flat of the blade protecting him against the heavy projectiles. Each larger than the standard arrows used by the longbowmen of Awin, rivaling javelins in size and weight, five in total, all from the same direction, shattering on target and besides. The hail over, he dashed behind a bulky tree, sufficient cover against any following waves.

  The next five arrows came from the opposite direction, Hagan once again his shield. It wouldn't hold, he had known, but realized more keenly as one lucky projectile came within centimeters of glancing his finger, clutching the hand to keep the weapon propped, the wood behind him pierced with a hair raising crack.

  Among the foliage and menagerie, well worn plates of steel covering swollen frames, the barest sliver of heavy bows. From this distance, the armor seemed uniform: flat masked helmets with outward slopes, pauldrons and chesplates that emphasized bulk without affected movement. Details and decoration came with deeds, now proudly presented as necklaces of teeth and knuckles, bands of fur and skin, the skull of a juvenile Cave Hound hanging from a rope belt.

  He knew they were bait, though the nature of the trap he had no wish to uncover. Missionaries, low rank grunts with little to no means of Divinity, the kind of troop the Haruspect would have to know was useless against something of his caliber, but easily replaced. At the prompt of an unseen signal, all five nocked arrows as one.

  The first to shoot, however, were the four Citrine still in hiding, their aim true from directions Hagan's bulk would not cover. Throwing himself down faster than the arrows could land, he dodge out into the clear, where the first five had been patiently waiting, firing immediately.

  Hagan was heavy. Years past, Fordu had carried comrades in full Vanguard Executioner armors, made to stand face-to-face against some of Ivias worst monstrosities, on his back, and they weighted less than Hagan in full. Carried over his shoulder by the slim handle, having it out and about slowed him significantly.

  Yet, the cultists were practically human. Muscles overworking themselves, body bent until nearly parallel with the ground, he swerved to the side, watched arrows pepper down empty space, making dirt and leaves and splintered bark fly.

  Inexperienced, they hesitated for far too long. Before they could nock the next volley, he was upon them, the full of his physical might bringing down Hagan in an overhead. Centuries of fighting the Citrine had given the Sect much knowledge, including the fearsome quality of their craft, tempered with blood of their Heirs and given the name of Living Steel, at its purest form one of the most sought metals in the continent.

  Against the full weight of Hagan? Useless. A whimper was all the unfortunate sucker managed to croak before they were crushed, body and armor folding over themselves, helmet crumbling into a plate as blood and brain matter painted ground and his leathers both, a cloud of dirt and yellow crystals rising over them.

  He would not allow the opportunity to pass. Twisting down and left, pressing the still stuck corpse against the ground to clear it off, then grabbing the blade by its side and launching it in a piercing motion against the second, closest Citrine cultist who, failing to react, had their gorget smashed by the blow, spine crushed against a tree to near decapitation.

  briefly letting go of Hagan, Fordu dove for the still sheathed club, solid steel with a bent and spiked head. The third had their leg smashed broken mid unsheathing, and with a turn, the club flew ,the fourth crumbling on the spot. Another turn, he grabbed the Citrine by the back of their chestplate and lifted. Nine arrows struck his vicinity, six striking their downed companion.

  The Missionary gasped in pain, but the Living Steel had held strong. He reached below their helmet and yanked up, ignoring the blood splurting over their fingers in favor of retrieving his own weapon. Only then did the fifth, most distant, found their courage, casting away their longbow in favor of the heavy Yine Cleaver by their side. By then Fordu had already fled.

  More cultists emerged to bar his path, the late frontline with ready shields and close combat weaponry, their advance easily avoided. Projectiles came from behind them, noted and dodged, those who didn't fly wild entirely by themselves. He broke through the closing circle, only to come a timely twist of the head from another. Hagan swooped down, catching a Missionary by arm and chest, impact against a bed of roots bisecting them with a strangled cry.

  How many were there around him, and how had they surrounded him unnoticed? If they could have attacked at any time, what had they been waiting for?

  "Holly!" He called, uneasy, already sprinting towards a smaller, looses line of Citrine, the nearest gap too obvious a trap. "Hollyyy!"

  No answer. His foes approached, ever silent. Ducking to the ground under a slash, he retaliated with a shoulder check that sent the blind idiot falling into their closest companion, Hagan's following blow crushing both. It was then that Fordu heard a sound, a gallop too heavy to be Holly, heading square in his direction.

  The warmare tore through the vegetation, howling in a way not too dissimilar to the equines its kind imitated. Nostrils flared, pinprick pupils focused, long slavering mouth full of fangs, it lunged with its half-claw half-hoof feet, ready to crush him under its muscular bulk. Too noisy, however, and Fordu evaded both the beast and the follow up spear jab from its rider.

  He only barely noticed the quiet silhouette skittering his way.

  In an instant, he was on the ground, saliva dripping down his Mark as surprisingly dexterous claws held him down. The smooth yet flabby skin of the gnashing Cave Hound was tough to rip, an adaptation made against all the powerful, opportunistic parasites they tended to live alongside, its thick canines made to rip into rivals and the penetrate the carapace of prey. From its size, from the myriad scars of a lifetime of battles against Dashi and beast both, there was nothing juvenile about this one.

  Still, not a foe for him. A chop, and its front leg cracked. It didn't whine, so much as emit a hoarse sigh not unlike a moribund man pierced through the abdomen. Grabbing for the wounded limb before it could fight back, the creature was thrown aside, within the nick of time, as a second vaulted in his direction, much less patient.

  The warmare returned in full speed to trample him, and this time he met it head on. Hagan's swing caught the warmare by the neck, bending it in half at impact, crushing the rider's arm until it burst the armor apart and launched them off their mount. Head snapping to the side, his Rava flew, catching the second hound mid leap in the open gullet.

  At the ensuing lull, Fordu took stock of his situation. The Citrine soldiers still surrounded him, numbers growing but distance maintained, no more arrows taking flight. The surviving cave hound limped away in silence, while the rider he had just taken down cried and squirmed against the ground, dragging himself away on his back.

  Holly was nowhere in sight.

  "Missionaries of Citrine!" he said. "You are outmatched! Your armory and tactics will be less than pointless against me! I will not give you any mercy, turn around and run if you wish to survive!"

  It had always been a long-shot, and he knew. Some took a step back, some tensed for the renewed aggression, some looked at their comrades with uncertainty, but not a single one ran.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Theatrics would not help him today, then. "So be it," he said to himself, hoisting Hagan over his shoulder. He aimed at another line, cultists standing shoulder to shoulder, unaware of his plans.

  He moved, and they jolted into action, realizing his goal far too slow. Hagan rose, their eyes wide through the gaps of their helmets, watching as it fell-

  But never completed its arch. His arms had been frozen, enveloped in solid stone.

  No. Palid skin, fingers like the limbs of a man enveloping his arms in a grip stronger than any metal. Hagan's momentum snapped his loose wrists, arch shifted to fall just to the side of the Missionary, nudging one of the digits just slightly. In that fraction of a second, it ate with frenzied abandon, skin and flesh torn to nearly the bone.

  The pain should have been mind shattering. The hands did not budge a centimeter.

  "Huhuhuh!" Warm breath tickled Fordu's cheeks. When had his hood fallen down? "Incredible spectacle! I must admit, my rotten friend, I don't tend to expect much skill from a traitor to the Madhounds, yet this makes twice I've been surprised. How unfortunate it also makes twice I've seen this prowess leveraged against my own kin."

  "You are-!"

  "I would say, reparations are more than called for. Hope you don't mind!"

  And with those words, the torment started.

  ------

  Holly Seneschal burned.

  This should be horror incarnate. Holly knew Will when she felt it, when it crushed her beneath its boot without regard. Holly knew what the tinge of the moon meant, what kind of place she had wandered into, and the things coming for her later in the night.

  But even the painful memories could not find purchase in her mind. Every fiber of her being burned.

  A burn unlike that of God, of that saliva-stinking, skin melting, crimson night. It wasn't a physical heat, not a fire she could smolder, it was inside of her, in the way her skin tingled and shivered at the brush of every wing, the forbidden heat pooling at the pit of her belly that filled her with desires her Elder had almost beaten her to ignore, the rivers of saliva dribbling down her chin, the painful pulsating convulsions of her stomach following her all the way from that... atrocity in Gwanegume.

  She tried to fight. She did! She could feel the slim membrane of Will, could tear at it with her thousand limbs, only to feel it close around her again, never leaving, never lessening, pounding inside her mind like a frenzied heart, driving her completely, utterly mad.

  In the end, all she could do was clutch that little bit of humanity Elder Seneschal had granted his Holly before she could even understand she would come to waste it. Falling to her four limbs, she crawled, her mouth gaping and snapping shut over whatever creature happened to fly past, fingers digging into the mounds of skittering things, alive and dead, shoveling them into her gullet with no regard for the filth that came with.

  Not enough. Never enough. The mound of corpses refused to leave her mind, the soft entrails, chewy muscles exposed by gashes and brute force, still red, still fresh, so full off-

  the earth burst around her head, headbutt carrying her past stone and soil and the green tendrils of sprouting seeds. She screamed until her lungs hurt. Hadn't she got away?! Couldn't remember how, couldn't remember why, everything was being lost in that haze of desire and dread and regret and- who knew what else? The moment she had laid eyes on all that meat, all for her, the moment she had fallen over, she knew something had been irreparably broken, but she had fought, she had escaped, and she would not let herself return!

  Yet, where then? If she had to get away, where was away? All that existed under the golden night was endless craving, shared among her and the omnipresent show of predation around her, before her, threatening to spill inside her through the desperate claw of mice, the fangs of bats, the uncountable reaching tarsi searching the folds of her body, only to be seized and devoured.

  Any direction would have to do. How many days had it been now? Had it even been minutes? She ate, and she moved, and she resisted, more and more and-

  And finally, she reached a dead end.

  The cliff extended several times her height, though she hadn't seen it until it had been within kissing distance. Solid walls curved above her, plants precariously perched over its edge. The great celebration continued, swarming and climbing and hitchhiking and being dragged above and beyond its limits. A desperation seized her so suddenly she gasped, nails unfurling to seize as many of the creatures as she could. Soon, nothing but crumbs of vermin remained within reach.

  With them gone, consciousness fell back into place, and with it gut wrenching shame. She covered herself against the ground, feeling naked and exposed like she had never been before. She could still fell it, deep down, calling and begging for more, for things she didn't know how to give or couldn't afford to, and its presence stung.

  Those were not things of her. Those were not things human beings did or felt. Those were not things that belonged to Holly Seneschal, to the savage or the good girl, she knew, Elder Seneschal knew, he had to have known right? He was wise, he was far sighted, he was so good even God acknowledged him, right? He wouldn't have become the God speaker otherwise, right?

  No, those were not things of her. It was the Will, pumping through her veins no matter how she pushed it away, or cocooned herself under her limbs for protection. It had infected her, first through those words, then the circle, then-

  "Lady Mariwa Di Aila. I am please to see you have found yourself again."

  Like falling into the bone drenching, cold waters of a river, she jolted to attention at the voice, and with it came understanding. She saw she had arrived at a clearing, longer than it was wide, like a gouge in the treeline leading straight into the cliff. From the tree lines, figures in metal emerged, slowly, carefully, afraid of her.

  One, however, stood before all, unafraid. Voice deep and masculine yet youthful and polite, reminding her of how a young Rosen might have spoken to Agare. She recognized him from that morning, both from his size and his weapons, the beaked one-handed scythe and the heavy shield, pointing her to those words.

  "The Greater shall be with us in a matter of moments," he said in flawless Yine, and her mind couldn't help but wander into how odd a fit the voice was to the image. "I hope his gifts were to your satisfaction. He has been very eager to meet you."

  A different kind of fear took her as she came to understand who these people are, their name, no, their Tale whispered over and over again the past week. Citrine. She had never seen the color before, she realized.

  Then, anger. That word, that name used on her again. A well threaded denial immediately came to her tongue, but she was surprised to find she couldn't bother to speak up. What would be the point? Who would care?

  Holly rose to her legs, feeling... wierdly incredible. Filled and energetic, the overwhelming desire having abated to a pleasant buzz at the back of her head with a gentle warmth spreading across her body. Giddy, she tried moving her arms and legs around, feeling like she could do anything, like she wanted to do everything.

  Standing to her full height, the armored men didn't look so big anymore. Corpulent, heavy, weapons glinting, yet not half as frightening. They were the ones who had killed all those people in town, the ones who had tormented her with those strange wishes and made her doubt herself.

  She stared at them in hunger, and felt them stare back at her, looking her from head to toe in a way nobody else ever had. She was keenly aware of her nudity and compare it to their armor, yet couldn't shake the idea that she was the one in power here. She was the one looking down on them. It was thrilling.

  The membrane didn't supress he the same way God's once had. Maybe it made her a little sluggish, but it couldn't hide these men. Her will grabbed and pushed, making them shivers in their little shells as she measured them. They were, all of then, different than she had expected, the chaos of their being slow and coiled, firm in a way that was unlike the looser currents of her comrades, fused together maybe? Half-way to solid, like-

  "Me," she said out loud, sending a few of them jumping. "Heheh. Are you the ones who did... that to Gwanegume? The ones who left that... t-that..."

  Scythe nodded. "It was a gift from the Greater." he said, and she could feel her nails extending at the disaffection in his voice. "He had intended to meet within the city walls while you feasted, but you escaped."

  "You're gross. You're evil," Part of her felt as if the judgment should come with some genuine repulse, yet all she felt was good, righteous. For the first time in so many years, she came face to face with drad and didn't feel helpless. "You hurt all those people! A-and you called me that word, my- how did you even know it? Who told you?!"

  "The Greater will tell you everything you want to know. Ask him your questions, he shall be pleased to oblige."

  She shouldn't. She should leave, beat her way out of this mess! How long had it been, since she got into a scuffle she actually stood a chance of winning? the thought of it was electrifying. Would their armor break as easily as a nose, their shields sink as easily as a belly? She would need to hit hard, otherwise they might make as the boys back in the Lesser and keep coming back for more, always unsatisfied with the wallops they got. She would crush them, then find Agare!

  Agare. Hadn't he been with her, a while ago? Her memories from the last couple hours remained blurred, but she could recall him, if somewhat vaguely. For some reason it made her angry.

  Any further pondering, however, was cut short, as a booming voice thundered from the woods, shaking her out of her stupor.

  "I am a fountain of knowledge, after all!" A guffaw, hills grinding each other into pebbles. "And what use would knowledge be, if we don't share a little? Alas, I'm afraid what I learned about you, dearest, was strictly in confidence."

  Above, she saw the woodlands shake, trees crackle and topple out of something's way. An enormous figure strode into the moonlight, wordlessly scattering the men out of his path.

  Tall felt like too much of an understatement. At nearly twice her own height, shoulders broader than any person had the right to have, skin paler than white rippling with impossible muscle and soft fat, he was by far the largest man she had ever met. Long white hair pouring from beyond a receding hairline to the nape of his neck, long white beard descending all the way to his chest and framing a grinning mouth of perfect teeth, wide enough to straddle the line into the humanly impossible.

  Her first though, seeing his nonchalant approach, the deliberate swagger of his steps, the total focus of his large golden eyes on her person, was to his beauty. That he wore nothing but stretching, shredding trousers did not help. She felt her breath stolen away.

  "I'm glad I can still please without uttering a single word!" His rumbling chuckle crossed the clearing, making her spine tingle. "How unfortunate circumstance won't allow us a tryst. Do pay more attention!"

  She stammered, confused. How he read her so well, despite never meeting her? And his words, too. A jolt of fear left her hissing, as she remembered herself, where she was and what had brought her here.

  Scythe stepped aside, receiving a surprisingly gentle pat on the shoulder by a hand that could easily engulf his head.

  "I hope I didn't make you wait too long?" the giant man said. "That Madhound was surprisingly entertaining, I could hardly tear myself away!"

  "Of course not, Greatest." Scythe said. "She was still enjoying her frenzy until a moment ago, when I interfered in preparation for your arrival."

  "Still? My goodness, now that is a promising start!" That Greatest said, grin somehow growing larger. "Happy to hear! I suppose this one won't be a waste of time, after all."

  "I thought the same."

  In a move that almost made her question her own eyes, the giant hand lifted to the head of the smaller yet still hulk of a man and roughly patted him.

  "Greatest," the man warned, she had to guess considering his impassive tone.

  "I will be dealing with this one now." he dismissed with a wave. "You all, feel free to watch so long as you don't interfere. And you, If you would be so kind, take these leftovers and secure them. Careful with the void! He was carrying a rather nasty toy around, and we didn't search him for further surprises."

  "Right away, Greatest."

  The Greatest turned to her again, locking eyes. The boundless delight she found there could have thrown her right back into that electric mood.

  Could, had he not raised his hand. Something hung there, pinched between two fingers, displayed like some cool bug he had found by the bushes.

  Limp and lifeless, Agare's Mark still swirled with almost languid placidness, as if unaware of the state of its master. His clothes shredded at several places, armor removed with impossible precision, and his limbs-

  His limbs, her heart lurched, had been pulled off, wrenched off their bloody stumps like those of an insect, now dripping pitch dark liquid to the ground.

  Every pleasant sensation left her, filled with a void that left nothing but her and the still body. She only had a moment to process what she was seeing, as the giant chucked him aside like a toy in the hands of a careless child, his dead and broken corpse vaulting over the boundaries of the Throne, disappearing over the bushes for her to never see again.

  "W-why?" she said, lost.

  "Now, before we talk, give me a moment." Menoux said, reaching for the hims of his trousers.

  Holly saw red. Pumping every bit of this new found strength to her legs, she leaped, nails outstretched and ready to mine him into ribbons.

  When she came to her senses, she was on her feet, several paces closer to the giant but stumbling back, his skin untouched. She watched him strip himself of his clothes with mounting confusion, his part now dangling into the air as he took a deep breath, smiling content and spreading his arms outwards.

  The prickling began a couple seconds later. Covering her chin, her chest, her shoulders, as if she had somehow fallen flat on her face and not noticed. Feeling the taste of copper, she pressed two fingers to her mouth, and was shocked when they sunk in a hole that had most definitely not been there.

  Searching with a tongue, she found them, two front teeth tucked into the back of her mouth. Fragments of them, anyway, which she spat aside.

  "Wha'?" she tried to say. "Wha' dish' yu-"

  "Now, I did warn you to be patient!" He tutted her with a finger. "Attacking a distracted opponent, many would consider that deplorable! Some might go as far as say you fit right in with our crew! And to think I only meant to compliment you on your personal aesthetic, on your lack of restraint! But I digress."

  He stepped forward, and she back.

  "Now that we stand face to face and body to body, allow me to introduce myself!" the Greatest said, the title taking a whole new meaning in her head. "I am know by many names. Greatest, Haruspect, The Butcher of Heron Road, the Pale Worm of the Floodlands. But to you, my dearest Lady Di Aila, I offer the grace of the name given by my Mistress.

  He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming her embrace. "I am Menoux the Burnt, and today I have come to extend you the grace of Aenexias!"