Darkness spread over the interminable firmament, swallowing the beloved, cold and dour shades favored by the Gray Monarch, snuffed the heat of the Isles, allowing a soothing cold to slip into the loose clothing drenched in his sweat and the blood of his enslaved citizens. Pressing against the alabaster wall, gleaming with nightly blue layered onto the whiteness whilst Euthymius remained in the alley, observed the marble warehouse in the middle of the commercial district on the lower eastern plateau.
A long building with domed roof, deep set windows with voracious and opaque windows slurping up the silvery light falling upon their immaculate surfaces. Their walls white, wooden rims segmented them like the wings of dragons, bearing a strong, reddish-brown shade starkly contrasting the polished alabaster walls bearing the symbols of the lesser Deos of Wealth, Gold and Commerce.
Upon the tall walls, serpents crafted from gold slithered along the upper and lower rims, their eyes precious jewels of ruby and light bluish opal set deeply in their serpentine sockets. Euthymius felt their gazes sweeping the far-reaching street betwixt him and them, silent and fetid breezes billowing from one end to the other. With blazing nerves, he pushed harder against the wall, into the darkness. His strong and broad bosom stretched the middling dark brown fabric as he drawn in the crisp and icy air, whilst he collected his thoughts. A prayer to One and the Eight parted his lips, then leaping into the Fold of Shadows, he charged across in hopes the golden serpent’s gemstone eyes shan’t see him there.
His lids cataracted over his eyes, took deep breaths whilst funneling the outer mana in the surroundings into his flaring arkhaine points. A little trick Luelia thought Euthymius, where his ears sharpened and focused on the steps as the left then the right foot turned in the direction of the warehouse.
Beyond the high and ornated walls, Euthymius sensed five or six people ambling in the silent night. Not many, and he hoped to avoid them if possible. But he prepared himself for bloodshed if things came to that. The scraping of wood he heard clear, as two built a spire of crates in the corner. He waited for them to draw far, then with one hand on the blade gifted by Hektrahd, leapt over and landed, his arrival echoing only in the Fold of Shadows. Upon landing, he egressed involuntarily, whilst hurrying in the cover of another stack. There he ducked his massive form, sat there quickly smelling his arm pits.
He sat there, peeking over once assured not a soul patrolled the front yard. Short he pondered where they may keep plans or schemes. For a moment, he felt foolish for coming on a spur. Never once he met with Middias or any of his family members, merely heard of their involvement with the New Dawn when he still believed they worked the good work. But he was there, and he saw no reason to leave without checking out the place at least. In the worst case, he would destroy anything to stoke the flames of battles becoming ever more frequent, ever more brutal across the whole city.
Dozens of plans he drawn in the minutes that passed, in the end decided on one that may disappoint Mineirvia for its furtive nature. Shadows gathered around his tall, muscular silhouette, wreathed the layers of middling clothes, then when they dissipated, no eye could see him without the aid of maghia. His steps produced no sound, the sweat and blood casing his skin and dampening his clothes emanated no sounds, the shadows smothered both as he stole across the long distance, then leapt over the crate.
A lone guard passed, a lizard-kin of scales red and purple as wines, eyes the deepest blue he ever seen in his life. He aimed true and quick, piercing the tip into his nape, drove it through the throat. No shriek, no whimper, just a bloody gurgling came forth that reptilian lip as he fell limp.
Quickly he hid the corpse in a barely filled crate, then moved around to the next, a tall and proud aevhe whose beauty awakened regret in his heart when he slit her throat, whilst the faint gurgling, he muffled with hand clamped over her luscious lips and soft cheeks. In a matter of three minutes, he thrusted the blade into the heart of the Minokin guard; slit the throats of the gilded mer-kin with pinkish red rim scales and the bulky dwarf who inherited little of his progenitors elemental features. The last two, he left in the open, then entered into the spacious warehouse, with at least three open floors, inner galleries made from the same polished wood which lined, segmented the outer walls, framed the deep-set windows.
Shadows flittered away cloaking his body from the naked eye. A grunt parted his lips at the sudden pain surging across his abdomen and then his back as he crashed through beam and wall. He rolled thrice before stopping, before slinking back into the Fold of Shadows.
“I guess I rusted a little.” A pale beauty of a niuvhe strolled out from behind a door, her hair voluminous and a cluster of finely tousled locks, yoked by an opulent silver pin set with gems holding the regal shade of violet and blue, the deepest of black. Her stretched out hand emanated dissipating crimson and black swirls as it returned to her side. Amidst the throbbing pain spreading onto his sides, Euthymius recognized the dark robe she wore, the very same Ephraimur wore. Or at least similar, that it evoked the horror of his imprisonment within his own mind.
He glanced down at his sides, pushing against the wall, fearing an expanding wound would glare back at him. Relief washed over him somewhat, after he lifted his tunic and seen no blemish on his velvety skin. No flesh or bone exposed, but the pain remained.
Little time he had to ponder, as he leapt towards the right, crashing through a barn-like door into a small, cramped space whilst hearing the next spell explode upon the thick door. He ducked down, hearing two sharp daggers tore through wood with as much ease as cutting gelatin. Both pointy ends poked through right where his strands flown down flattened against the reddish-brown wall.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He charged and phased through the neighboring wall, rolled and listened to the footsteps following on the other side. Without giving her a chance to open the locked door, Euthymius kicked it with as much force as he could gather. Or needed. He tore it from its hingers, from the stone frame, then felt his heart skip a beat at the bellow with which it arrived upon the hardwood floor. To his annoyance, it even muffled the niuvhe dodging from its trajectory.
“Shame for such a pretty face.” The niuvhe said with a snide smile, pointing her dagger’s sharp tips towards him, then she vanished before his eyes. His pupils dashed from right to left, up and down, in all directions before he rolled sensing her return to their Fold. Back on his feet, a hard layer of soil and stone sheathed his bosom and the whole of his neck. The blade aiming for his throat bounced off with an irritating sound, the other sunken into the fabric and soil, stopped at the conjured pebbles.
He swung his blade, scraping her cheeks and cutting off a few strands of red, missing her throat as she leaned out of his angular sword’s straight trajectory. Euthymius cursed his aim and luck, whilst keeping his distance from the nimble niuvhe. A few times his sword clashed with her daggers, drawing sparks by the sudden force. She swept her hands across his eyes, wreathing both in a sheath of blinding darkness. Even his thoughts fell into disarray. Enough for her daggers to taste the flesh, sinew of his left shoulder.
He cried out and tumbled onto one knee, his own blood cooled his heated body. In the heat of the moment, he grabbed her wrist just as he felt the blade part from his shoulder, then hurled her across the long and wide hallway.
She landed upon the stairs, nearly breaking each step, but got up seemingly unharmed, though a soft groan parted her luscious white lips. She cursed aloud in a tongue he recognized not, one hard and brutal even for his plebeian ears. Her lustrous eyes squinted dark, hard with shadows as a vapor arose from his wounded shoulder. Though the blinding blackness evanesced, the world returned slightly hazy, shifting under his feet. He felt even the increased beating of his heart.
With shallow breaths drawn, Euthymius tightened his loosening grip around the hilt, and noticed how mustering his arms to lift took once more effort. He drew back in time as she approached with a serpentine grace, dancing steps. A flash of silver drawn a streak before him, and knew then how close he came to have his throat sliced open. She frowned with her smooth face, appeared blurred now to Euthymius as he familiarized himself with the sorcery speeding her up. The frown changed slightly as Euthymius continued evading her continuous strikes whilst struggling just like when he had colds in the past.
There were no more motherly embrace to warm him, to swipe sweat off his forehead, to sing old-songs. Nor were a brother to return home with remedies, hope and joy in their eyes when he smiled back at them, to ease their worries. And it bestowed him enough to sharpen his own movements. Now he recognized amusement in her eyes, in the way her delectable lips curled.
This time, he was sure she had enough of playing the huntress. She positioned herself ready to slice open his taut tendons, sever the strong bone protruding along his collarbone, chest and throat along with the veins and nerves. As he inhaled deep, felt the sparks within sear, she became less of a blur, and her smile shifted when he grappled her throat, flung her away with as much force as he could. Euthymius watched the widening of her eyes as she flew for a short while.
By the time she slammed against the wall, she returned into the Stream of Time in which mortal’s exist. Her tremulous body still got back onto her feet, spitting and coughing blood onto the hardwood floor. Euthymius floundered towards her, the throbbing pain of his abdomen worse than mere minutes before. But he continued on, steeled himself as sweat washed out blood from his tunic, his breeches.
“Damn chosen.” She cursed under her painful breaths, and kept her distance, her brows raised as she drawn new plans within her mind.
Euthymius tautened his grip about the handle of his sword, the mana tickled his thighs and ankles as it flown down and slowly manifested into a spell. Once more his steps became surer, quicker as he charged at her. She shuffled around, out from the wide arc of his strike, and continued evading the next few cleaves aimed at her neck, blocked and dodged the blade once as it came for her bosom. A fault as she registered the cold steel passing through her flesh. Blood cascaded out from the deep wound, tainting her garbs she missed wearing after decades of masquerading.
“Farewell…my lady.” She whispered as her body went limp still skewered by Euthymius’s sword. Then it collapsed onto the floor, staring at the ceiling whilst a small pond slowly expanded beneath her smiling corpse.
“Hope no more of you are here.” Euthymius murmured weakly. Whilst Mineirvia’s gift somewhat notched down the poison from deadly, the killing strike and hastening his body weakened him enough he felt heavy weights pull his lids over his eyes, and barely he could lift his feet until he heard a faint thud coming from the second floor. He sighed, dragging the sword and pulling through with each step, a bit uneasy as a second could easily kill him as he made his turn.
But no blade came as the thuds grew louder and he picked up on another noise, muffled and unintelligible. Even just putting his hands on the knob, twisting his fingers about the bulbous, cold metal Euthymius found exceedingly hard and he thanked silently her mistress for Her blessing. “Oh… hey… there!” Across him, Calaviril sat surprised then worried at him.
Several coils pressured hard into her body, draped in the finest of silks. Her worried words muffled by one cloth shoved into her mouth, another of a regal red tied around it with a taut knot. The lovely eyes of her shimmered with fear and worry, then with recognition the moment Euthymius took one, then another step inside. He fell onto his knees; the impact shook the floor and walls and ceiling; his breaths came raspy and hard. His heart about to leap out from its meaty and marrowy cage.
“I’ll be… fine… in a second.” He struggled each word as much as he strained himself to remain conscious. Darkness slowly encroached his world from the corners as he watched and heard the soft flesh and orange silken beat against the hardwood floor, whilst his blade slipped from his hand towards Calaviril. And with a loud thud, he toppled into a world of nothingness.
