Galthor’s eyes narrowed. "No one? Then let ask a different question." He looked directly at Lord Doveling. "Why are you still here? The Xyrrh never planned to share the core’s treasures. You were going to betray the others after they helped you eliminate the barbarians."
Lord Doveling’s antenna went completely still. Around him, Casper and Alpha Carter turned with sudden suspicion.
"Is that true?" Alpha Carter growled.
"Of course it’s true." Galthor’s voice was almost conversational now, but the power still pressed down on everyone like a weight. "The Xyrrh have been playing their own ga from the start. Why do you think they took no casualties fighting their Fiendish monster? Because they didn’t fight it. They avoided it, waited for you to weaken yourselves, and planned to strike when you were vulnerable."
"Lord Doveling?" Casper’s hand moved to his weapon. "Explain."
The Xyrrh leader was silent for a long mont. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.
"Well done, Chief Galthor. I underestimated you." Lord Doveling’s compound eyes glead. "Yes, I planned to eliminate both of you after the barbarians opened the seals. Why share power when I can take it all? But you’ve complicated things considerably."
"Have I?" Galthor took a step forward, and shadows moved with him. "Because from where I stand, things have beco very simple."
Another step. The fog thickened around him, spreading across the clearing like a living thing. Wherever it touched, visibility dropped to nothing. Warriors who had been ready to fight monts ago now stumbled blindly, unable to see their enemies or even their allies.
"You wanted barbarian blood to open the seals," Galthor continued. His voice ca from everywhere at once, echoing through the fog. "Fine. I’ll give you blood. Just not the blood you expected."
He struck.
The Kobold who had nearly killed Karathra died first, his head separating from his body before he could scream. Two Winged warriors fell from the sky, their throats opened by sothing they never saw coming. A cluster of Xyrrh shadows dissolved into actual shadows, consud by the greater darkness that Galthor commanded.
The clearing erupted into chaos.
Galthor moved through the fog like a ghost, appearing and disappearing, striking from impossible angles. He wasn’t fighting like a warrior—he was fighting like a force of nature, omnipresent and unstoppable. His hands tore through armor as if it were paper. His divine strength shattered weapons and bones with equal ease.
And he was smiling.
Not with joy. With rage. With the accumulated fury of a race that had been enslaved for a hundred thousand years, channeled through a god who had learned to endure suffering and transform it into power.
"Karathra!" His voice cut through the confusion. "Get the masters out! Now!"
Karathra didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the broken handle of her axe and used it to hook Drakira’s arm, pulling the wounded warrior to her feet. "Move! Everyone, to the ridge!"
The Stronghide masters fought their way toward the edge of the clearing. Brakthar used the Drowning creatively, pulling water from his pocket dinsion to create barriers that separated them from pursuing enemies. Hrothgar’s blood-seeking armor blazed as he carved a path through the chaos. Ashclaw and Grimvar covered their retreat, striking at anyone who got too close.
Lady Pelica moved with them, her expression unreadable. She’d participated in the fighting—Karathra had seen her dispatch three Xyrrh with casual efficiency—but now she seed content to follow rather than lead.
They reached the ridge and looked back.
The clearing had beco a nightmare. The fog was so thick now that individual figures were impossible to distinguish. They could only see flashes of light where essence users channeled power, hear the sounds of combat echoing through the white-grey murk, and occasionally glimpse a shadow that might have been Galthor moving through his enemies like death incarnate.
"Should we help him?" Rukar asked. His face was pale, his wounds bleeding freely.
"No." Karathra’s voice was firm. "He ordered us to leave. We leave."
"But....."
"He’s not fighting to win." Lady Pelica’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. "He’s fighting to kill. There’s a difference. And right now, the best thing we can do is not be in his way."
In the clearing below, sothing scread. It wasn’t a human scream or even an animal scream. It was the sound of essence itself being torn apart, of power being shattered, of sothing fundantal breaking.
Then another scream. And another.
The fog began to clear, pulled back by Galthor’s will. What it revealed made Karathra’s breath catch.
Bodies. Dozens of them, scattered across the clearing like discarded toys. Winged warriors with their wings torn off. Kobolds with their throats opened. Xyrrh reduced to component shadows that would never reform.
And in the center, standing over the three banner leaders, was Galthor.
He held Casper by the throat, the Winged commander’s feet dangling above the ground. Alpha Carter lay at his feet, unconscious or dead, his massive body bent at angles that shouldn’t be possible. Lord Doveling was backed against a rock formation, his antenna flat against his head in a gesture of pure submission.
"I asked a question," Galthor said. His voice carried clearly despite the distance. "Who authorized the sacrifice of my people?"
"It was..." Casper choked out the words. "It was orders. From above. The Howling’s leadership. They knew about the seals. They knew what was needed."
"Nas."
"I don’t know! I just follow orders!"
Galthor’s grip tightened. Casper’s face turned purple, his wings flailing uselessly.
"Chief!" Karathra’s voice rang across the clearing. "Don’t kill him! We need information!"
For a long mont, Galthor didn’t move. His eyes blazed with light that suggested he was well past caring about information, past caring about anything except making these people pay for what they’d tried to do.
Then, slowly, he lowered Casper to the ground and released him.
The Winged commander collapsed, gasping, his hands at his throat.
"You get to live," Galthor said quietly. "But only so you can carry a ssage back to the Howling. Back to whoever gave the orders." He crouched beside Casper, and his next words were soft enough that only the Winged commander could hear them clearly. "Tell them the barbarians have a god again. Tell them the chains are coming off. Tell them that if they ever try sothing like this again, I will personally visit every leader, every commander, every decision-maker who had a hand in it. And I will show them what happens when you betray the wrong people."
He rose and turned to Lord Doveling. The Xyrrh leader hadn’t moved, hadn’t tried to flee or fight. He simply watched with compound eyes that reflected Galthor’s image back a thousand tis.
"You’re smarter than the others," Galthor observed. "You knew this was a possibility. That’s why you held back, isn’t it? Let them commit, see what happened, be ready to adapt."
"Adaptation is survival," Lord Doveling said carefully. "And I am very good at surviving."
"Not today." Galthor’s hand moved too fast to follow, closing around Lord Doveling’s throat. "Today, you’re going to learn that so things are more important than survival."
"Chief, no!" This ti it was Brakthar who called out. "He’s connected to the Xyrrh Mother Queen! If you kill him, you’ll make enemies of the entire hive!"
Galthor didn’t seem to care. His grip remained firm, and Lord Doveling’s breathing beca labored.
Then Lady Pelica spoke.
"He’s right to be cautious, Chief." Her voice carried across the clearing, clear and asured. "The Xyrrh rember debts. Kill Lord Doveling now, and you’ll have made an enemy that will hunt you for generations. But..." She paused. "If you let him live, if you force him to acknowledge defeat publicly, the Xyrrh will rember that too. They respect strength. Demonstrate yours properly, and they might beco allies instead of enemies."
Galthor’s eyes flicked toward Lady Pelica, then back to Lord Doveling.
"Is that true? Would the Xyrrh respect strength over revenge?"
Lord Doveling, even with his breath being choked off, managed a response. "We... respect... power. Always."
Slowly, Galthor released him. The Xyrrh leader collapsed, his antenna twitching erratically as he gasped for air.
"Then spread the word," Galthor said. "The Stronghide banner is under the protection of Unchanging Warth. The barbarian god has returned. And anyone who threatens my people will answer to personally."
He turned and walked toward the ridge where his masters waited, the fog parting before him, the shadows trailing behind him like a cloak.
Behind him, the surviving enemies watched in stunned silence.
The barbarians had a god again.
And the world was about to learn what that ant.
Reviews
All reviews (0)