2

  The trees of many are particular in their uncanny growth, as their roots are grown in chaotic extensions that intertwine, sucking the moisture from beneath the soil that is now dried—devoid of any life. Such purpose is wasted on perpetual stagnation. Like these trees, the remnants of humanity, such as Gatlis, who opens his skin container, ravenously drinks his blood supply. From that moment, Karthuras became curious and observed his surroundings, concluding that blood had become their only supply of refreshment. And, if that is the case, why hasn't he drained the blood of his warrior brethren and enemies? A question Karthuras had asked hours prior, with this response:

  'Our bodies need blood in the afterlife—to sustain ourselves during the journey until we meet with our Ring lord. Sleeper—you call.'

  Such traditions are factors of circumstance when there is a problem—a solution must be found for one or everyone's survival. The morbid solutions were becoming more cadaverous as Karthuras learned about these traditions. Within his eyes, he sees brutality from afar, and 'My home' Gatlis mentioned with some delight. The tipis wrapped around trees and boulders, made from the hides of humans, a contradiction to the previously mentioned blood Karthuras had asked. The people are a human and a beast hybrid, sharing labor and fun while playing with the bones and pieces of the human anatomy. He thought:

  Would they not also need their skin? No, that is not the right question to ask... Is this their only means of survival? Their people are the resource…

  Before, he had the chance to ask many questions regarding these contradictions. To his dismay, Gatlis paces faster to meet with his people, who welcome him in a short period until the questions are asked:

  'Where is my husband?', 'where is my son?'

  He did not reply with his words, only expression. In return, he was given a barrage of curses and the pitiful sight of internal agony. In these curses, one of the women scolded him by saying:

  'You are a coward! In death, you follow! Follow!'

  After they began to strike him down with fists and bone, the Demon, Karthuras, intervenes to stop such brutality. And again, the people witnessed his colossal stature.

  "Enough!" he demanded. Everyone in the village was shocked as they hesitated to bow before him. "This display of madness will not bring back the dead nor will give them peace for the next life.”

  "We are sorry, great lord! Please! Please! Do not take us to the empress!"

  Gatlis rose from the ground, wiping the blood from his forehead before he spoke: "Do not worry—Phader is here to help us, not harm."

  Karthuras agreed: "I have no affiliation with this empress you speak. I am here from my own volition. So, rise." Together, they stand.

  From this point on, he gradually became acquainted with everyone. Considering the population was low, it was easier to remember their names; luckily, he was given a loincloth stained with black soot wrapped to his front, backside, and right shoulder. Strongly hesitant, he was to take it at first, but he wished to be covered by any means sooner rather than later.

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  Once he could fit the clothing around him, an older woman entered his proximity; she was short as a child, leaning on her staff for leverage and then using her free hand to shift the long grey hair from her muddy face. She asked him curiously:

  "Why did you come to us for aide? Why do you not see the empress?”

  "Like I mentioned before," Karthuras answers, "I have no ties to this empress you speak.”

  "Gatlis had spoken of your wants. To help us in our fight against the Flexenmires—is this true?”

  "Not in the way you might hope for… Your people wish for violence, but I wish for peace.”

  "Peace—Bah, words of cowardice! The Ring lord mocks our tradition by sending us a coward demon—then turns our greatest warrior soft.”

  "If a war breaks into your home, you can be sure I will be here to protect you from harm. Gatlis had witnessed the powers I possess,” he changed the subject: “Why don't we start from the beginning: my name is Phader-Karthuras Rotolo.”

  "Melg…" she replied bitterly.

  "Well, Melg, I must say it's a privilege to see life once more… I had slept in darkness for a long time, so forgive me if I seem ignorant of the ways of our culture.”

  "There is only a lack of wisdom I see in you…" she shrugged, "how much longer do we have until after the courtesan festival?" She left his sight, worried for her people's future.

  #

  That same night, Karthuras returned to camp after taking a short walk. His thoughts were free to some extent—besides the questions plaguing him. Finding a place to rest, he sits alongside Gatlis and his people, who enjoy the contents of their blood stew. He rejected the bowl he was offered, stating his curse of immortality, preferring that they save it for themselves.

  The night lingers on, and the crimson sun falls over the horizon. The tribe began to cover themselves and each other for warmth. Meanwhile, a few got together, placing down small stone statues against the cracked soil. Their designs are uncanny and fearful in expression. Their position was perfectly cast by the sun's flare, a spotlight made for the audience to watch clearly. From behind one of the dead scattered trees, someone leans around wearing a horrid mask resembling the demoness Hettalies.

  Karthuras was taken back by the sudden image, remembering his time in the chapel with Cresalin before she shifted into that Demon and took away his mortality. He takes a deep breath and then focuses on the act. Then, the thumping of the drums began.

  The woman portraying herself as Hettalies exaggerated her movement as she flicked and played with the stone statues, saying, "There will be no order—there will only be true freedom!" She then drips blood over the statues as her friends tremble the rattles violently. "To live, to create, to my new order you follow!" She tips them over, then circles her movements within the sun's shape. "And now, we begin the new way…" the dreadful silence came as she replaced the statues with disfigured ones. "My creation, beast and man. Become Gramnorians!" She suddenly screamed while holding her lower abdomen. "From my hands, I created a new life, so too will my son be born..."

  Karthuras held his left shoulder from his turmoil; he thought:

  Damnit, don’t say it… Please... I can't…

  The woman raises a monstrous doll made from hair and fangs while saying: "The prince—the phantom of destruction… bow before him or suffer his wrath!" The rattles became increasingly ferocious in their sound as the woman danced, pouring droplets of blood against the soil. Her voice shifted to a deeper tone as she said: "Burn the land so they may never hide! Kill the cattle so they remain malnourished and desperate! Plug the water so they may never be satisfied… From this day forward—you will bow to your empress—and you will bow to your Prince…"

  Karthuras was internally mortified at the new world and could no longer think clearly. Only to remember that long night with Cresalin, creating this dreadful event from the concept of love. And in his anguish, the night finally draped over that extensive curtain of gloom.