The Mother of Monsters

Elat pressed his back to The Marble, the tang of blood still burning his nostrils. He tried to take in a steady breath but it came instead in ragged gasps. They had rushed to the forest in double time, he and the wardens riding directly from Osan to one of the apparently many checkpoints scattered throughout the wildlands. Instead of taking their initial mounts the entire way they swapped out for fresh horses at the checkpoints and kept riding, even as exhaustion began to cloud Elat’s vision. Eventually, the riders stopped and he realized that it was only for his benefit that they did so. All of the Wardens apparently possessed the same aspect as Azrael, they did not need to sleep. Even The Marble seemed tireless as it loped alongside his mount. He wondered how soon they could have made it if he hadn’t slowed them down.

When the group had arrived in the forest they had expected some kind of resistance. Hakal had warned them that the knight had exerted some strange amount of control over the Wightlings of the forest. Instead, the forest was silent save for the occasional howl of the wolves. He had tried to find some way to contact the mighty protectors of the forest but they were nowhere to be found. They were forced to make do with what they knew and saw and proceeded on a direct path to the settlement. Elat should have known better. He should have seen it coming. Azrael would have seen it coming. Even Teyva would have seen it coming. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his heartbeat, cursing himself for falling so far behind the two women. He nocked an arrow and exhaled, drawing up the power of the Aspect of the Tower.

A low boom in the distance was his self-imposed signal to move. He whipped around The Marble and took quick aim, releasing an arrow and piercing the head of another wightling. The creature shrieked in agony before dropping to the ground. More came only to be tackled by his new stoic companion. The Marble had done just as Teyva had promised, watching his back every step of the way. The creature had very little in the way of a personality but it made up for it in sheer loyalty and commitment to its job. The Marble rose from the ground and its warped jaws closed with a low crunch, signaling the end of yet another pair of wightlings. Elat looked up from the scene as another boom shook the trees. It was close, he had almost caught up.

He hurried through the clustered trees, jumping over raised roots and dipping beneath low-hanging branches. He dove and weaved, his footwork making easy time through the environment. Teyva had told Azrael that Orcs possessed an ability called [Naturalist], it allowed them to adapt quickly to their environment, changing their bodies, the way they moved and the way they saw their surroundings in order to take advantage of where they lived. Elat had spent years in the forest and he hadn’t really thought about how it had affected him. He simply figured it was easy to navigate the trees but the more he thought about it the more he realized how different he was from the orcs of the southern badlands. He wondered if he would have as much difficulty in the mountains as they might in the trees.

The shriek of yet another wightling drew him from his thoughts and he took aim, picking the creature off while in full motion. He didn’t have time to waste on dallying, he needed to support Master Yftha somehow. Even if it was only to serve as a distraction. He scowled, thinking back to the Justicar’s arrival among the procession of Wardens. The terror that had chilled Elat’s blood when the man had so casually crippled one of them in between his manic demands to see the ‘Pale Woman’. Yaga Yftha hadn’t hesitated, she showed no fear, instead, she ordered her wardens to continue onward to the settlement and secure it while she kept the man busy. The Justicar’s furious retaliation had been met with equal force by Yaga Yftha, who with her strength alone had demanded the insane man’s full attention. The two had split from the group and Elat had elected to follow them unable to face his father without doing something about the monster that had held his home hostage.

Another Boom, so much closer this time, dust kicked up in the immediate area followed by the sound of a tree falling. Elat rushed in the direction of the danger, The Marble not far behind. The trees began to thin a little until eventually, Elat stumbled to the edge of a clearing. A small pond framed by a rock formation marked the center of the clearing. Instinctively he recognized it as one of the many small springs that were scattered about the region. That distracted thought had almost proved costly as a low hiss was cut off by the sound of The Marbles tentril-like tongue whipping out to capture yet another wightling and drag it kicking and screaming into its maw. He turned to look at the mute monolith and nodded his appreciation only for another boom to draw his attention toward the center of the clearing.

Yaga hit the ground, hard, she rolled and slid across the leaf-strewn surface, her back colliding with a tree not far from where Elat stood. She sat there for a moment as the dust cleared, light flickering around her body like thousands of little panes of glass. The light faded and she dragged herself to her feet, blood beginning to drip down from the side of her head and from the knuckles gripped tightly around the hilt of her sword. She spat on the ground and rolled her neck, staring toward the small pond before glancing back at Elat. Her expression shifted from grim resolve to shock as his presence registered for her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She demanded, “Get out of here now!” 

Elat blinked, he hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. “I can’t face my father without doing something!” He countered.

She let out a pained groan, “Damn you orcs and your traditions!” She swore, “This is not a fight you can win!” She whipped her head away from him and faced the pond again. Where it had once been open-air now stood the disfigured form of Justicar Wale. His right arm had grown long and sinuous, ending in three powerful-looking fingers that tapered to razor-sharp points. His chest glowed with an orange inner heat that blazed like a pyre. Elat had seen that before. His eyes were the red-yellow that Elat had seen before in the manic gaze of the wightlings, but they were calm and filled with contempt. He raised his head and stared down at Yaga, golden blood oozing from a gash on his side.

“You are wasting my time, Warden,” The twisted justicar said, bearing rows of razor-sharp teeth. “I will ask one more time, bring me the Pale Woman or I swear to you I will extinguish every life in that settlement.”

“Threats don’t work on me, monster,” Yaga snarled.

An arrow hurtled past Yaga’s head without warning, the tip slamming into the center of the Justicar’s chest. The man-monster staggered, looking down at where he had been impaled. He looked up and followed its trail to Elat. Yaga mimicked the reaction, turning to stare at Elat in surprise and confusion. Elat, despite the trembling in his legs, had already drawn another arrow back and was in the midst of releasing it when the Justicar reached up and ripped the arrow out of his chest. Gold blood oozed forth but he didn’t even seem to notice. The monster snapped the arrow in his bare hand and glared at him.

“You,” He snarled, “You hurt me back then.”

“I had a feeling it was you. Is the justicar even still in there, monster?” Elat shot back, releasing another arrow.

The man vanished, moving so fast that Elat completely lost sight of him. He spun, Azrael’s stories about how the wightlings liked to attack from behind urging him to action. He raised his arms defensively as the man-monster bore down on him, striking hard with his elongated arm and sending Elat skidding across the ground almost twenty feet before coming to a stop in the water. Elat came to just in time to realize his lungs were starting to fill with water and, despite what felt like at least one broken rib, he forced himself to a sitting position. He looked up into those red-yellow eyes as Yaga charged at the monster from behind.

“We are one, now. Conrad Akos,” The monster said, smiling, “We gave each other life. We need power though, power for our revenge. The Pale Woman will give us that power. You know where she is-” The single-minded monster’s rant was cut off as Yaga’s sword sliced a wide gash down his back from his shoulder to his hip. The creature turned, screaming in pain only to be slammed with an invisible wall of force that sent it hurtling through the air. It crashed into a tree, toppling the mighty plant over as Yaga reached down to yank Elat to his feet.

“Get the hell out of here!” She bellowed, “Now!’

Elat had done what he needed to do, he’d sunk an arrow into the monster’s chest. He was no hero, he wasn’t a champion. He was a guardsman and more importantly he had someone he wanted to come home alive to. He bit his lip, fighting back the fury in his chest that told him he was being a coward. There was bravery and then there was stupidity. He got to his feet and ran. A howl of anger followed him through the trees as he broke back into the forest, he heard his name shouted again by Yaga and he bit his lip. He should have gone straight home first, he should have checked on his family. He shouldn’t have interrupted Yaga’s fight. What if he had forced her to give up on a strategy she was working on? 

The trees behind him shook as the unstoppable monster continued its pursuit, he pumped his legs harder, calling on the Tower as he drew another arrow. A ripple of wind blew past him as he turned his head in time to see Akos bearing down on him. Elat, despite all his time in the forest, tripped. His pivot sliding him right into a raised root that sent him tumbling onto his back. He released his arrow, the missile passing Akos’ head harmlessly. Elat reached for another arrow, his heart pounding in his throat. He could hear Yaga hot on the trail, hurrying to catch up, shouting his name. He snatched an arrow off the ground and felt pain lance through his bow hand. He dropped the arrow as a scream of pain wrenched itself up and out of his lungs. He turned his head to see a long claw piercing his palm. A powerful, twisted hand wrapped its fingers around his own and squeezed.

“Elat!” Yaga shouted, she was so close. Then came the sound of breaking bone as every finger in Elat’s hand crumbled beneath the monster’s grip. Elat’s vision swam and then went white, his limbs convulsing as the pain permeated his entire being. He reached with his free hand and scratched at the monstrous limb that held him, desperate to free his crippled limb.

“Now you will tell me where-” Akos froze and let out a wheezing breath. Gold blood splattered across Elat’s face as the creature’s hand went limp around his own. Akos’ eyes rolled up and he went slack, a blade sticking out through his throat. Yaga pulled the weapon free and the monster hit the ground. She stepped over it and dropped to a knee at Elat’s side. 

“You imbecile!” She chastised him, tearing off her sleeve and wrapping the injured hand, “I promised Azrael I would get you out of this alive, and here you are trying to get yourself killed!” She bellowed, “Now get up!” 

She turned away from him as he struggled to his feet and brought her attention to the collapsed man on the ground. She kicked him once before crouching and checking his vitals. “Damn freak,” She hissed, “Still alive.”

A hoarse laugh erupted from the monster’s throat, his mouth moved but his body looked oddly still. Elat figured that the blow to his neck may have left him paralyzed. An eye opened up on the side of Akos’ head, frantically jerking this way and that before focusing on Master Yftha. “You’ll have to try harder than that. I will cling to life with every ounce of strength that I have.”

“So be it,” Yaga said stiffly, “But nothing is immortal, monster,” she leaned down and grabbed the creature by the hair, “And if I cannot figure out a way, I know a magi who is very creative.”