Cinders of the Past: City of Fire

The sound of steel on steel rang through the courtyard. Luren’s body stung from the countless cuts and stab wounds decorating his figure. His grip on the practice blade was slick with sweat and blood. Ethenial and Renaul attempted to circle the bare-chested man. Luren shuffled back to keep the pair in front of him and then swung at Ethenial. The pair traded blows. Luren was impressed with the progress he had made training with the two former King’s Daggers members in the past month. Still, had Luren not been an Undying, he would have died in the exchange. Luren had landed several good blows that, had they been with a real blade, would have meant death. He felt Renaul’s daggers pierce his back and enter his lungs. The air left Luren and he collapsed. Ethenial and Renaul backed off to give Luren time to recover.

“Are you sure this is the best way to get you back into the swing of things?” Renaul said.

Luren coughed as he recovered from the damage dealt to his lungs. “You’re two of the best killers I know. I need you coming at me with everything so I can learn to not rely on being immortal.”

“Well, your sewing skills aren’t going to get better now that you’ve chosen to train without your shirt.” Ethenial said.

Renaul scratched the back of his head. “That thing has got to be more patchwork than shirt now.”

Luren felt Vellemy’s Malicious gaze on him. He turned to regard her, “You’ve been sitting around watching us all this time.”

The woman crossed her arms. “So?”

“Want to take the opportunity to hack and stab at me?”

For the first time since he knew her, Luren saw a genuine smile from Vellemy. “I’d love to,” she said.

Ethenial patted Luren on the back. “Good luck.”

Before Luren could ready himself, Vellemy had rushed him with a flurry of attacks. Several of her strikes had cut tendons, ligaments, and nerves. Luren felt the feeling in his fingers drain away. His sword tumbled from his hands. Luren was surprised by the accuracy of her attacks. Luren still had enough control to swing his arm. He struck Vellemy with a swift, heavy backhand. She stumbled back and brought a hand to her mouth. Blood stained the corner of her mouth and where her hand had touched the wound. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Luren. She charged and slammed into him, sticking a blade between his ribs and into his heart. Luren fell to his back as pain tore through his body from where the dagger pierced him. He groaned as he felt his heart trying to heal itself with the blade of the dagger still inside it. Luren’s fingers wrapped around the hilt. He took a deep breath and ripped the blade from his chest. As the pain grew worse, Luren curled in on himself, hands clutching at his bloodied, bare chest.

When his heart had recovered from the damage, he picked himself up off the ground. He handed the dagger back to Vellemy. “Feeling any better?”

Vellemy snatched the weapon from his hands. “I might after a few more bouts like that.”

A small chuckle escaped Luren. “Perhaps another time.”

Vellemy eyed him. “You really feel everything that’s done to you?”

“I do. I’ve felt many great pains. Though this was the first time I suffered an actual knife in my heart.” Luren nodded towards her weapons. “You’re ruthless with those. It was damn good knife work the way you sliced up me up.”

“One must play to their advantages. Mine is my speed and extensive study on where to cut a man.”

“You’re welcome.” Ethenial teased.

Vellemy shot the man a look. A shadow began to grow over the city. The four turned their attention to the sky. To their horror the moon had blocked out the sun and the sky had turned red. A voice all too familiar to Luren boomed through the air. “Denizens of Drubain, you have allowed the Saint’s Swords to fester like a cancer and take control of your city. You have traded one terror for another. Only this one is far worse. The Crimson Tyrant lives, and he is among the Renaian’s ranks. Would you let these hypocrites rule you? Those who are true of heart and wish to reclaim your lives will have the opportunity to do so. Fight. Fight for yourselves, for your kin, for your pride!”

“Who was that?” Renaul said.

“My sister, Elentia.”

A new sound violated the city it was as if the air itself was being torn apart. It heralded twelve spouts of fire rising within the city. Luren ran to retrieve his patchwork shirt, his black sword, and his red great helm that rested beside them. After yanking his shirt on and tying his sword to his waste, Luren slammed the helm onto his head. Within an instant Elentia’s voice was in his head. “What is it dear brother?”

“What game are you playing?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do you think you’re doing, you wretched demon.” Luren shouted, taking the trio at his side by surprise.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve actually thrown your lot in with the Saint’s Swords.”

Luren was silent. Elentia’s mocking laughter was an infuriating taunt. “Stop laughing.”

“You’re pathetic, big brother. You’re not the man you were a hundred years ago. You’re not even the man you were a decade ago when you let everything you built crumble.”

It was Luren’s turn to laugh. “Good. I don’t want to be that man.”

“Then you are fool who should have died the day your castle collapsed in on your head.” Elentia’s disdain was clear.

Luren would not let himself to be distracted by an argument. “I tire of this. What are you doing?”

Elentia sighed. “It’s all rather simple, dear brother. Drubain was the greatest thorn in their side, with your help they’ve removed it and turned it into evidence of their legitimacy. I will not allow that. This city will burn. You can run and live or stay and die with them.”

“I won’t let you destroy this city.”

Silence was Luren’s only answer.

A flash of rage gripped the man. “Elentia, I will not let you destroy Drubain!” Luren materialized the rest of his armor as he hurried into the building with Ethenial, Renaul, and Vellemy close behind.

“What did she say to you?” Vellemy said.

Luren ignored her and burst into Kurst’s office. The man was meeting with his lieutenants. One of the Saint’s Swords who he first encountered, the man named Fald’Arn drew his sword and approached Luren. “You’re not welcome at this meeting, monster. Get out or I’ll throw you out.”

“Fald’Arn. That won’t be necessary. Stand down.” Kurst’s command was quiet and calm, yet still powerful.

Grumbling, Fald’Arn sheathed his weapon.

“Well, he’s well trained, at least.” Luren commented.

Fald’Arn scowled at the barb as he returned to his spot.

Kurst turned his attention to Luren and said, “Your sister has threatened my city. Fires have already erupted from who knows where.”

“You’re city?”

“Yes, mine.” Kurst’s tone was flat. “And now your sister is threatening it. I want to know what else we can expect.”

Luren thought a moment. “Chaos. There’s going to chaos in the city. Everyone is going to be fending for themselves so you’d best establish order wherever you can because if you can’t the city and everyone in it are going to ripped apart.”

Kurst looked to his gathered men. “Go on, organize our forces, I want everywhere we control under strict occupation.”

The five men bowed, then left the room. Luren shook his head. “Your little militia and pet gangs aren’t going to be able to stop what’s coming.”

Kurst placed his own helmet on his head. Two sets of golden wings decorated the sides of the helm. Kurst pulled his hammer from under his desk. “You would criticize the tactical decisions of the people who won a war against you?”

“Set aside your pride and think about the citizens you need to protect. Evacuate the damn city.”

Kurst eyed his weapon. “You seem to think you’re in command, but you’re not. You’re just a tool to be used. It’s all you can be now. You-” Kurst stopped, he turned his gaze past Luren.

Luren turned. Two of the orphans were listening from the door. They recoiled from the sight of him as if he were a nightmare made flesh.

Kurst cleared his throat, then said, “Stella, Relland, allow me to introduce you to the Crimson Tyrant. Luren, these two are the leaders of the orphans that I have taken under my care.”

“So, it’s true? The Crimson Tyrant is alive.” Stella said.

Luren stared at the pair. They were old enough to have endured some of his last years as ruler of Kaydhen but they couldn’t have remembered anything about it. “I am.”

Relland took a step between his sister and Luren. “Our parents told us about you.”

“I can imagine they’ve told you a great many things about what kind of monster I was. You have little to fear from me now. I am not that man anymore, otherwise the pompous knight behind me would be dead.”

Kurst scoffed behind him.

Luren turned. “Get them and the other orphans out of the city.”

“I think for once, we find ourselves in agreement,” Kurst said, taking Luren by surprise. “Vellemy, escort them to a safe place outside the city walls and rejoin us for the fight.”

“I’ll take care of them, but how would I even find you?” Vellemy motioned to the window. “This has only started, and the city is likely already a mess.”

A small, shrill voice grabbed hold of the group’s attention. “I believe my mother can help with that.”

Luren turned to find a small briar doll walking past the two orphans into the room. The doll’s form was familiar to Luren but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

“Twiddle, what an unexpected pleasure,” Kurst said, greeting the doll. “But how did you get here so fast?”

“Why my mother of course! I am to herald her arrival to this gathering you have here.” Twiddle cleared his throat. “So, without further delay, Lady Nealonder has come to partake in whatever effort the Saint’s Swords and her old friend, the Crimson Tyrant have planned.”

A chill washed over Luren and held him in its icy grasp. She’s still alive after all this time, and not in league with my sister?

“Thank you, Twiddle.” Nealonder said, joining the small company crowding Kurst’s office. She approached Luren and looked the man up and down. “Malpharn, I’m glad to see that you look no worse for wear after all that’s happened to you!”

“It’s a surprise to see you, Nealo, and please, call me Luren.”

A look of understanding came over Nealonder. She offered a sympathetic nod. “As you wish.”

“Twiddle said you can aid Vellemy in returning to us after she escorts the children out of the city,” Kurst said.

Nealonder nodded. “I do.” She turned to Vellemy. “Outside you will find a pack of winged hounds. Eight of them. One of them, a particularly vicious beast named Sithasmus will bring you back to us.”

Vellemy blinked. “Winged hounds?”

“Demons,” Luren said. “You should have little to fear, they serve Nealonder.”

“For the most part,” Nealonder said. “Sithasmus lost an eye and a good part of his face in a fight some time ago and if you look at it, he might just take a bite out of you.”

“I’ll let the kids know.” Vellemy stepped out of the room. “Go collect the others,” she commanded the orphan siblings.

The pair hurried to gather the rest of their group, leaving Luren, Nealonder, Twiddle, the two former King’s Daggers, and Kurst alone in the office. Nealonder was the one to speak next, “I should also add that I was contacted by Master Elentia before her little proclamation.”

“What did she have to say for herself?” Kurst said.

“That she’s thrown her lot in with Sulfuryon.”

A silence washed over the group as they realized the potential horrors and devastation that such a union could bring about.

Luren gazed out the window into the city, the spouts of fire were still burning high above the city into the red sky. Violent shouts and screams of terror could be heard from the office. Those screams brought painful memories Luren had thought buried to the surface. Battlefields, cities, villages, it didn’t matter. If they had defied his rule, he unleashed unspeakable horrors upon them, but always made sure there would be survivors who would bear witness to the pain and bloodshed and spread word to any others who would think about making the same mistake. Luren gnawed at his lip until it bled, and then, kept gnawing.

“She plans,” Nealonder began, “to bring about an elder demon to destroy the city. Thanks to the cult of Arnek Relan she is more than capable of using the residual power of Sulfuryon to do so. However, she must be close by to perform such a feat. Perhaps, even in the city.”

“Then we can find her and kill her,” Kurst said.

“We have an entire city to scour, do we even have the time to pull that off?” Ethenial said.

A dark realization struck Luren. I'm a damned fool. He shook his head. “She’s not physically here in the city.”

Kurst cocked his head. “What? How do you know?”

“Because she’s acting through me. Specifically, through my helmet.”

“Is that really possible?” Renaul said.

Luren nodded. “She can’t do anything overt, however she can manipulate magical energy. There’s more than enough polluting the city, and I’m sure something this big has taken time.”

“Like the past month Kurst has held us here,” Ethenial said.

“What if you left the city?” Renaul said.

Nealonder shook her head. “That won’t work. Elentia’s plan is already in motion.”

“Well, she’ll need to make one of those portals,” Ethenial said. He turned to Luren. “Can’t you just swing your blade at it and destroy it like the last one?”

Luren scowled. “Won’t work this time. The amount of power being used to create this portal makes the one in the sewers look like an ant hill compared to a mountain.”

“If you lot can protect me, I can attempt to disrupt it.” Nealonder said.

“Are you sure you can contend with my sister’s power?”

“If she were actually here, I wouldn’t have a chance.” The reverence in Nealonder’s words were palpable. “But if what you say about her acting through your helmet is true, then all she has is the smallest margin of influence, which would explain why it took a month to cause this mess.”

“Well now we just need to find where this portal will be,” Ethenial said.

Luren thought a moment, then said, “no doubt it will be in the sewers where the last one was.”

“Then let’s get going.” Ethenial was already moving for the door.

“It’s not the sewers,” Kurst said.

Ethenial stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“It’s in the square.”

Luren was hesitant. “How can, you be sure?”

It was not Kurst, but Nealonder who answered him, “That is where the cult of Arnek Relan held most of their sacrifices and had public sermons. With the bloodshed in the city, it would be the best place for summoning an elder demon.”

“Then we go there,” Luren said.

Ethenial drew his blades and shrugged. “Well, if we’re wrong, we all die, so let’s hope it’s the right choice.”

The group hurried into the chaos that had swallowed the city to make their way to the city square, escorted by Nealonder’s winged hounds. Luren examined the familiar sight. They stood at half the height of a full-grown man. Their charcoal grey skin was drawn tight over their sinewy muscles and large bat wings were pulled in close to their flanks. They were demons who once served the now dead primeval god Kaldym whose plane of existence was shattered by the other primeval gods centuries ago. It didn’t take long for them to find the mass of butchered bodies lining the streets. Luren gazed upon the countless faces of Renaians, Drubainian gang members, and Kaydhenian men, women, and children. The spouts of fire still stood tall over the city like mighty, blazing pillars. The flames had spread to much of the city. No shelter would be found to protect anyone from Sulfuryon’s wrath. As they came closer to their destination Luren caught sight of Fald’Arn standing alone in the face of two werewolves, Renaian bodies littered the ground.

“Kurst. One of your men.”

“Fald’Arn!” Kurst said. He broke away from the group.

“Wait, don’t-” Ethenial was cut off by a bestial snarl.

The group turned to find the thin, pale bodies of more than a dozen Thurl - ghoulish creatures born of unholy blood rituals. They bared their fangs and hissed. Alongside them were three of the apelike Renkav - people who devoured human flesh until it caused them to mutate and becoming the monsters that now stood before the group. Luren drew his blade. A cry of pain echoed behind them. Looking back, Luren saw that Kurst had been struck. The werewolves were still engaged with Fald’Arn. Turning his gaze to the rooftops, Luren spied Kurst’s assailant and recognized it as a Theadros. A thin, houndlike quadruped whose unnatural, long tongue struck like a viper and could pierce the toughest of armor. The remains of Kurst’s shattered pauldron lay at his feet. Kurst held a hand to his wounded shoulder as he glared up at the creature.

“Any chance you can bring those locusts out?” Renaul said.

Luren shook his head. “They won’t eat these creatures. The Thurl are magical, there’s no substance to them and the Renkav are tainted meat, it would be like trying to feed the locusts poison.”

Nealonder stepped forward. “Allow me.” She reached into a pouch at her waist and retrieved a fistful of thorns. She tossed the barbs into the air. They halted and floated in front of her. With a wave of her hand, Nealonder caused each of the barbs to grow to the size of a small blade.

The Thurl leapt forward. Nealonder snapped her fingers. Her thorns flew forwards, striking many of the attacking creatures and killing them. Those that were not harmed by Nealonder’s attack, were engaged by the winged hounds.

The brutish Renkav charged the group. Luren rushed to meet one head on while Ethenial and Renaul engaged the other two. Luren struck at the Renkav, carving into its shoulder. He felt his blade glance off the beasts’ bone and bounce away. The monster batted Luren away, sending him into a nearby wall. Luren’s ears rang from the strike. He saw Ethenial and Renaul dancing around their opponents, cutting and stabbing when the Renkav reached too far or needed to turn to face one of them. Right, don’t rely on my body healing the damage. He moved towards the Renkav who howled at his challenge. Luren bellowed a scream of his own, goading the creature into attacking him. It’s long, muscular arms shot forward. Luren struck with his black blade, severing one of its arms at the elbow. The Renkav cried out in pain as blood sprayed from the wound. Luren pressed his advantage and struck again, piercing the beast’s chest. The Renkav crumpled to the ground.

Luren scanned the battle. Ethenial and Renaul were wearing down their assailants but growing tired themselves. The winged hounds were tearing apart their weaker adversaries.

“Luren, help Kurst,” Nealonder said as she prepared more thorns to pepper the remaining Renkav.

Luren turned. Kurst was against a nearby wall. Much of his armor had been broken, including his winged helm. Blood soaked his body. The Theadros hadn’t moved from its spot on the roof. Past them, the werewolves toyed with Fald’Arn who struggled to keep himself from falling to his knees.

The Theadros prepared to strike again. Luren leapt forward to take the blow. He felt a sharp pain as the tongue pierced his back, then nothing below that point. The tongue drove deeper, snaking through his body until it shot through his left lung and out his chest. Luren smiled and dropped his blade. He took hold of the beast, trapping it. He felt it trying to pull free, only to be brought to the streets as the weight of Luren’s body dragged it down. Kurst ran forward with his hammer and with a mighty swing, crushed the Theadros’ head.

The monster’s tongue was ripped from Luren’s body, he grunted, then wheezed as his spine, chest and lung began to recuperate. “Thanks,” he managed to say between labored breaths. Luren was turned onto his back by his helper. He stared up into Vellemy’s eyes. “Glad you could make it back.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned and approached the werewolves assaulting Fald’Arn.

Luren saw his other companions joining her. Ethenial and Renaul retrieved Luren from the ground and carried him until he was able to walk.

The werewolves met them with snarls.

“Are you monsters ready to die?” Kurst said.

“No,” Luren said.

“What do you mean ‘no?’ They’ve nearly mauled Fald’Arn!”

“They get to go in peace,” Luren asserted.

“What games are you playing?” One of the werewolves said.

“No games. Enough blood has been and is still being spilled today. Not everyone needs to die today. Please, just go in peace.”

The slimmer of the two werewolves put a clawed hand on the other’s shoulder. With a guttural, yet still feminine voice said, “Let’s go.”

The pair departed from the scene. Luren offered Fald’Arn a hand. The man swatted Luren’s hand away and helped himself up off the ground.

“Fald’Arn, can you walk?” Kurst said.

“I can.”

“Then get yourself out of this city. Whatever happened, tell me after this mess gets resolved.”

Fald’Arn saluted, “yes, sir!” The man began a slow walk out of the city.

“Can you still fight?” Nealonder said, turning to Kurst.

“Saints know I’ve gone through worse.”

“Then we better not waste any more time,” Luren said before retrieving his sword.

The group ran to the city square, arriving just in time to witness a portal opening and a demon twice the size of a man stepping through. Smoke billowed from the elder demon’s flesh, masking its true form. Two bright orange eyes pierced the veil of smoke that cloaked the elder demon. From its hidden hands, jet black claws jutted out like ten razor sharp obsidian dagger.

“Is this all that Drubain has to offer me in resistance?” the elder demon spoke in a voice like thunder,

“Let Kurst and I handle this,” Luren said, stepping forward. “Steel blades will not pierce this demon’s flesh.”

“Then what would you have us do?” Ethenial said.

“Keep Nealonder safe. She’ll support, Kurst and I in this.”

The elder demon let out a laugh that reached across the city. “Your arrogance will be your downfall. I Metasterix will paint my body with your blood and decorate these buildings with your entrails.” Metasterix’s eyes locked with Luren’s. “I know the scent of a fellow Undying.” The elder demon raised its hand. The lines of its palm glowed with power. “This will be a good fight.”

Kurst leaned in towards Luren. “Can he kill you?”

Luren nodded. “Yes. There are two ways to kill an undying. A weapon blessed by a god, or another Undying.”

Elentia’s voice rang in Luren’s head. “Good luck, brother.”