Since their King and this Contessa parted paths with the two men, Cyrussia and Llumeth walked amongst a myriad of men, legions claiming land as far as their eyes would reach. Amid all that they feasted their eyes on, each of them were left wondering if this was an apogee or only the beginning â some kind of awakening or upsurge. Llumeth endured many travels and battles with Ulyssiask and the things heâd seen along the way turned his mind and heart both as cold as the steel his sword was born from. Heâd also grown wise and calm, disciplined in his ways; he didnât question the reality of things around him. Cyrussia, however, was younger than either. And the more he witnessed, the heavier his conscience weighed with thoughts. Surely, he thought, this could not be incipient. To him, this had to be the preparations for what would prove to be the greatest war heâd ever witnessed. Unfortunately, or perhaps vice versa, heâd not witnessed nearly enough to fully understand the caliber of everything surrounding him; but because of what he had actually experienced under the command and in the days of his Ithae â Ulyssiask â heâd grown very sure of himself, firmly believing that thereâs nothing he could not accomplish. Llumeth knew better and he knew his limits. That made him far more fatal. One thing was established, though. Neither of the two are the diffident type.
Unlike Llumeth, who would assuage his understandable doubts and questions with assurance of reasoning and with patience, Cyrussia felt as though his mind was coming unraveled with each passing fear and question. His thoughts were obscured by his lack of insight, and eventually he would have to succumb to his weakness, turning to Llumeth for answers and guidance. Lightly exhaling, he caved and eased his facial expression into that of a victim to naivety. At that moment his gaze shifted to what he would never admit as his superior for the sake of his own pride and spoke up as anticipated by said superior, âWhat do you think has happened?â
Halfway through the statement and despite having anticipated that questions would soon eradicate the preferred silence among the two, Llumeth let out a very plaintive and somewhat melodramatic sigh. If he didnât feel that it would harm the poor inferiorâs self-conscious feelings and plague his thoughts, heâd shake his head and say nothing. Llumeth kept his eyes forward and his shoulders upright, resisting the temptation to slump over in grievance of his now deceased lover, silence. Heâd miss her company greatly. In the end, he had to force himself to engage in this overly typical conversation. In an obviously uninterested tone of voice he replied to one question with another question, âMust we actually do this?â
âFor all we know, we could actually be dead. I mean⦠I am right, arenât I?â Cyrussia persisted, barely even allowing Llumeth time to finish asking his question. His uncertainty only agitated Llumeth, though.
âWeâre still breathing, Cy.â
âWhat about when we were in Mesphili?â
âWhat about it?â
âTheyâre religious belief. Donât you remember what jhe Feral spoke of to Uly; about that place they call âHellâ? We could be there, couldnât we?â
âDoes it bother you that bad, Cy?â Llumeth sighed again and looked over to Cyrussia. His young apprentice wasnât going to let this conversation end so easily, and helping him through these doubts and contemplations had become insipid and trialing duration over the last few months.
âHa,â he boisterously let out an egotistical laugh, as though being accused of something false. The truth, however, was that it did bother him. He looked away from Llumeth as they walked and returned the accusing question with another, âThen what do you believe, Llu?â
âCareful, kid.â Llumeth knew Cyrussia by the back of his hand, every characteristic and flaw and detail drawn and mapped out in his mind. Llumeth was talented in sizing up men great and meek alike, Cyrussia or even his own Ithae were no exceptions. He knew that referencing to his younger counterpart would knock him down a couple of steps and have a humbling, if not upsetting, effect. Continuing his retort, âAs for what I do believe⦠I believe we live and we die. We are born of flesh, and from that day we are dying and diminishing until the day we find our final resting place. Ashes to ashes, Cy. After that, I donât know what comes. I do know that I do not believe in any place called âHellâ. And if there is such a thing, this is naught but an interlude between our world and whatever âHellâ awaits you and me â especially Uly and I. There are too many bloodstains on our hands to not believe that if there is a place like that, this is all there is to be found. Weâre not even suffering. The place he spoke of was filled with horrible things that you find in nightmares.â
Long before their conversation began, theyâd turned around and began to circle back to where they first dawned into the ranks. Theyâd both made mild observations of the warriors around them, the armor and weapons used and any other equipment or tools that roused the attention to the point of being appealing. After turning back, their walking pace was hasted slightly, whereas before they were relaxed. It wouldnât be of their oath or commitment or ways to not be in place, awaiting the return of their King Ulyssiask when he returned. Cyrussia stopped near the point theyâd entered through the ranks at, in front of a small fire thatâd likely been rousted by some of the legionnaires. There, he crouched and poked at the flames and embers with the scraggly remainder of a broken spear. Llumeth stood to his side and looked down upon him as he finished answering his questioned belief. Picking and stirring through the ashes, Cyrussia glared into the flames and glowing embers as ash drifted skyward in flakes, some still glowing red at the edges. In his growing conscience, it felt like some kind of twisted metaphor was being created by his mind, contorted and used against him â to haunt him â as though there were two halves to his thoughts, a second person within himself. The metaphor of course being that he was staring into those flames, symbolic of the idea of the Hell theyâd conversed about, and that those flames burned and devoured everything fed to them. Finally he shoved the spear into the heart of the small fire, releasing it from his grip and turning on the axis of his heels, looking upward at Llumeth.
âI just donât get it,â he said as he turned to look to Llumeth, but quickly felt interrupted and changed the direction of their conversation. Llumeth had an expression carved into his face from the abyssal unknown, an expression Cyrussia couldnât fathom and didnât recognize. If anything, it seemed to resemble horror, especially the way Llumethâs mouth just hung there, slightly open and emptied of its breath. He had to ask, âWhat?â
âLook,â Llumeth managed to say in an exhaling but winded breath. Both of their stomachs sunk in that moment, as Llumeth pointed and Cyrussia turned his head to stare at whatever had stolen the attentive of his appointed mentor. Llumethâs arm and pointed index finger lingered there as they glared intensely.
A short distance from them, legionnaires were dragging and hoisting along dead bodies; the corpses of both their allied men now deceased and the perhaps some of the fallen from their enemies. Every body, without exception, was then carelessly and without a second thought thrown into a large pile that was ablaze. It seemed unorthodox to say the very least â corpse after corpse flung into the large fire to burn with the others, no favoritism or exceptions playing part in the flavorless ceremonial cremation. The flames howled, bellowing out and roaring, cracking and popping like a demonic voice summoned from the depths of some heinous creatureâs stomach. It was a large enough fire to appear as a small mountain in its own stead, flames whipping and thinning near their twisted and spiraling tips were they faded into the tenebrae cast by rising smoke. What was to be witnessed beyond the smoke, though clouded and indistinct, was what seemed of even greater interest. Beyond many, many dead and burning bodies, each devoured and lost to the flames, were two figures standing â apparently halted from their approach â within a miniature synclinal valley amid the jagged peaks at the base of a rise of rocks and slopes. It was them, and what both of the Kingâs men saw next seemed horrific.
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Every muscle in Ulyssiaskâs body, the same as every thought in his mind, felt like a melee. Confusion, doubt, and pain that felt as though it should have lasted days faded in mere moments. What vixen had he consorted with, or was it even her that had been vexed or upset? Coincidence and happenstance was a vapid likelihood, and very unrealistic. At last, all that had happened and was still occurring was quickly approaching too much. Curiosities werenât sated, but set aside to be replaced with questions and disbelief. His eyes would soon fill with uncertainty, not in himself, but in the world around him. As she spoke, the weapon was sheathed. And what happened next was the unexpected.
The dear king was the type of man who craved and longed for battle, the shedding of blood and the sound of steel sliding across and through armor plating and flesh. His desire was strong, a nearly insatiable thirst for absolute power and reign. However, he had an overall goal that he did not allow his personal interests to so easily interfere in. He wanted a different balance. Perhaps once his vision of life was more pure and the pathway was lighted, but that was in childhood; and now the path was darkened and tainted with the scars and dues heâd paid, obscurities and betrayals drove him into a clear but cold state of mind. Ulyssiask did not foolishly place his trust in saviors to come, promises or prophecies to be fulfilled or any such weak and lacking tale. He demanded proof and solidity. Ulyssiask placed his faith only in that which he witnessed with his own eyes, and that which he could conclude as reasonable and realistic to him, but not to any other. He craved the very real but hard to grasp and indefinite reign of darkness. However, his ultimate goal was left bleak and unexplained, somehow tying into what he personally craved but also differing from it. Ulyssiask did not regularly make habit of envisioning women, though. He did not crave the touch of most women, or lust after their flesh. The king did not require pleasuring companies or bosoms, exposed or unadulterated beauty. He could see the beauty in war; he could feel pleasuring company in the reverberating shivers and vibrations of a man cringing in death through the steel of his blade. Occasionally Ulyssiask had looked upon women with a flimsy yearning, but nothing worth concern.
And despite all that heâd built his inner empire from, Contessa stood before him exposed. Every supple and prestigious curve displayed for his minds will to either pervert, ignore, or shy away from. She held no weapon, wore no cover, and stood just as blatantly as before in front of him, just as she had when clothed. Every inch of her naked flesh shown in glorious display, she was a woman to behold without any doubt or able shame to speak of. Ulyssiask simply could not fathom what he was witnessing, but he would not shy. And before he even had a chance to change his expression, to develop perverse thought or react Contessa was covered and clothed once more. What is happening to me, Ulyssiask thought, I willed no such thought. This was beyond perversion; he had to be experiencing something in the air or some adverse effect from this obviously unknown and disturbingly uncanny weapon.
In sheathing the weapon, Ulyssiask had placed and tied in the sheath and weapon on his back, the hilt even with the shoulders and neck. The vision came in timing with his arms lowering, and was over before his hands even managed to dangle in their relaxed position. At this point, Ulyssiask was left in more of a stressed disposition, tensed and uneasy. Finally, he was experiencing emotional effects that most would have experienced long before this point, however faint those effects may be. While the slightest curl formed at the edges of his lips in suspicion and question of whatâd just occurred, her question remained unanswered. Ulyssiask would set aside his thoughts and the questions arising from within to regain his focus, displaying little but more than enough momentary change in his overall presentation for her to catch glimpse of and wonder. Still, he was a warrior and used to adapting to the unusual and unexpected. Heâd be left questioning and adapting to the unfamiliar territory for a long while. Heâd question that moment in which he witnessed her exposed, if no answer was found, for days; but in all of his strength and resilience, heâd show no falter in his determination and main focuses.
The sign of momentary change sheâd undoubtedly noticed would be mostly by her question lingering unanswered for a moment longer than it would have under normal conditions, as displayed throughout their on-going conversation. Finally, he glanced into her eyes and the curl in his lips faded quickly. Her first question was obvious rhetoric, but the second statement and following question was appealing to his interest beyond nearly any other word sheâd spoken previously. âIt is done. Now this is the moment where we decide if the fight is lost. And you decide who lives⦠and who dies. It is a heavy burden to hold when one has the universe in the palm of his hand. Question is, my dear King⦠what do you intend on doing with it?â The palm of âhisâ hand, she said. And what did he intend on doing with it? Ulyssiask glared with a glaze in his eyes, symbolic of a sudden apathy he felt toward that universe she mentioned. And to that he replied, âChange it⦠forever.â
However vague or uncertain his answer sounded, his intent was obvious and much disciplined. It also became very obvious, surely, that he was not here to battle Contessa. He turned from her and walked toward the front of the temple where theyâd entered. Heâd not await her; sheâd be expected to do as she pleased, but hopefully follow. Ulyssiask felt that heâd answered her as best he could and their purpose in the temple was completed. With a consistent stride, the king would find himself passing the heads of those shrewd guardians to the temple and a changed weather. The skies were boiling with temperamental colors, brewing cauldrons stirring in the heavens and even worse⦠death and decay plaguing the sand of the shores. Winds wisped and gusts forcefully pounded and stirred sand and small debris around him the moment he was outside of the shelter the temple provided. He couldnât recall hearing such howling or even noticing any change from inside of the temple; this was like nothing heâd witnessed, it was too immediate and unexplainable. Ulyssiask turned back to the temple and approached itâs side, where heâd dawn the rocks and climb through jagged rises and drops and work his way through the slight slopes. It would require effort, but it would be better than strolling along the beach and dodging dead bodies while compensating and enduring the stinging of fast-moving sand, and whatever lurking diseases may be plaguing that area.
Their climbing wouldnât be too tedious or draining, these were merely rough rocks and the base of much higher rising structures in the earth â mountainous peaks and distant valleys and hollowed caverns. Here they could pass through without wasting time, and even cutting the time it would take to return to her legions by way of the shores in half. When Ulyssiask arrived at a small flattened area among the jagged rocks all around him, he was near the top of the falling slope, and ahead of him the rocks dropped back down to the fields below where theyâd have a short walk to return to the point theyâd departed from among her legions. As he stood to his full height and looked out over the open fields beyond them, his eyes widened. A legion approached hers and the appearance of a battle quickly approaching without either of their presence â her for her men, and him for his two men. It was all so far beyond the rising smoke of a bodies amass, one large pile of corpses burning. Sweeping the landscape beyond that large fire, he could make out what appeared to be his men at a smaller campfire, and finally just beyond his own two feet a pathway he could tread and jump from one surface of rocks to another to make it to ground-level.
Apparently it wouldnât be so easy, though. To the side of him that was more downhill, his left, small rocks and pebbles sifted and the sound of them falling and trickling down the forever-changing face of rock and earth unnerved Ulyssiask. It wasnât Contessa, though she was surely standing immediately behind or around him. They had visitors. And his eyes then witnessed a marvel heâd never seen before, creatures of such darkness no other heâd ever known could compare to them â these were dark angels, demonic beings with great stature, rising over the rocks that shrouded them. The King wasnât sure how to react just yet. They were already surrounded, and this was what his men must be seeing if they're looking. Were they aligned with Contessa, or were they enemies from whatever opposing forces she battled? He was ready to fight, but his hesitations kept him from acting so quickly. Ulyssiask was now a king without answers. His mind could only fixate on one thought â Are they here to take the sword?
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