Beyond those many miles, the two crossed the rigid mounds—climbing dagger-like mountains to walk alongside the puddle-infested lands; such rare water sights were taken by the hordes of insects more giant than Gatlis, who dreaded the sight. After that, they find the ruined chapel from afar. Karthuras recalled its structure and the Phader who ruled over it. Horton, the very same individual who ignited the curious workings of the supernatural bending of life and death. The reason why Karthuras is plagued with such power. He recalled that instant when it happened, then pursued by the waves of guilt he had forced himself to forget.
"This is far for me," said Gatlis. "Death will chase.”
"Very well," Karthuras accepted.
Gatlis nodded before retracing his steps back. As for Karthuras, he wandered the narrow path for the chapel while admiring the web of décor fitted around the fallen pillars and shattered walls. The blue insignia is painted against the skin hides, depicting a mountain in front of the scorching sun.
It was a vapid plain from the outside, but once he approached the main door, he could hear the abundance of enjoyment from within. The people yelled in sync with the beating drums, words patterned with meaning, none of which Karthuras could understand from the muffled echoes. His knock thundering in the ears with its hollow tune soon conflicted with their rhythm. Their leisure was damned—turned to fear when they opened the door.
The decorated Gramnorian warrior looks up, staring into the Phader's darkened gaze. He steps back, dropping his weapon, and kneels before him. Everyone in the chapel, dressed and expressing their hours of pleasure, was now stained in that similar expression of horror.
He walks forward, protruding the darkness that came from his altered anatomy. No one in his proximity wanted to face him except the chieftain standing before his throne. A monster he was, a grotesque combination of the human form unified with bear traits, such as the head and limbs. Hanging at his shoulder is a tall halberd made from the skeletal parts of his fallen foes, battened from the many battles; its scars were insufficient to shatter because of its reinforced design. His voice growled when he spoke with the Phader, shivering the flesh of anyone near him:
"When my warriors felled, my worry of intrusion aches me. Your presence I waited for, and now, you come unarmed. Why fight me alone, Demon? Will you act with your cowardice ways of conjuration?"
Karthuras replied: "I do not wish for anyone else's death. I came with the hopes of negotiation between the two tribes."
Shocked by his words, he roars with laughter before speaking again: "Demon, want peace? Foolish!”
"There is nothing foolish about establishing order in this forsaken world. Have you and your people not suffered enough? Have your enemies also suffered similar strife?”
"No-no demon, there will only be death for the Vermiculus-Flumen. Our ancestors had fought their kind for many years; those years, death! Death was all they knew when they had the power. And in death, did they slaughter those who chose to rise… You rest at the tip of the highest mountain, seeing the waters flow in one direction. If that head knows much, then you must walk from all.”
"I must remain and take—"
The chieftain interrupted: "Then a fool you are, from life to death… This talk will end in two ways: kill us now, or walk away and prepare for our final fight… No weak-minded demon can face all of us." Everyone stood with their weapons, preparing to strike Karthuras, who remained firm in defeat. Before leaving, he expressed:
"Your efforts will strike the hearts of your people with perpetual blood-lust—when you fall by my hands or by my words—all whom you have sworn to protect will wither."
The chieftain chuckled, "After the prince collects his tribute, prepare for war.”
"No one will listen to you…" The faceless woman whispers in his mind, "Embrace your power once more; show his people the horror you possess.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
He replied without speaking out loud:
Never again will I torment these souls to my whims. Such darkness controlled me in my mortal years and left me in a terrible state of desolation. Therefore, I will find the opportunity I need to solve this problem through my intuition.
For a moment, she was silent: “Very well… But do not allow yourself to be slain by those you wish to protect when the opportunity strikes."
#
He left the Cathedral behind him—weary of the outcome that will fall next week. Karthuras had to consider a plan to stop this war and deal with the Prince's arrival. There wasn't much time left, and—Sleeper was more than willing to allow this tragedy to occur.
Perhaps he is testing all of us… To see if we are worth living in this world. A thought he considered
Such goliaths of events are a rarity in spans, persistent in months following the next. However, the answer is the most significant question, for his surroundings had already decayed, fetid from their affected flesh, its boiling pools of sulfur. At the same time, humanity swims unconsciously through its red waters. A sight plain to see—elder Melg gathered the young woman together to speak of their future, the possibilities of why the Prince would want them for selection, and question if he would give them better living conditions. Melg was persistent and had an optimistic viewpoint. Gatlis gathered the few remaining young boys, no older than thirteen, preparing their wits and arms for the war that would be pursued. The idea of death is yelled into their small ears with a sudden change of religious perspective. When one dies, they will be sent to the great ring—into the land of dreams where they will only know peace and luxury. He was subtle with his words from a more cultural perspective:
"The Ring Lord demands us to fight strong, without weakness… if you fight weak, I will use your corpse as floor to my home. And you, in dark nightmares." The boys became determined by such ideas, but the eternal nightmare threatened them.
As the days strive forward with cruel haste, the village waned by the prospects of their lives. Nonetheless, Karthuras looked for ways to stop the Prince and the war, only coming back with that terrible answer of conjuration. Lost in his realm of ideas, he needed something consistent, and a Phader does not know the meaning of war, for he and his colleagues were never trained in such arts. No, only the ways of life and words ease the mind into a more balanced state. What a predicament it was for him to know the brutal ways of nature had to devolve back into this state of existence. For a short while, he transversed through the Cathedral's rubble, discovering—those familiar books. The same ones that the old man had during his final days before he was slaughtered out of grief.
A complication begins to occur in his mind, and the critique for the existence of Phaders is outlined in a book, paragraph upon paragraph. Though skeptical Karthuras was from this individual's perspective, he recalled his previous encounters—and considered some prospects in which the order may have influenced his life and the lives of many. Though in the beginning, there was a reason—the times of 'True Freedom,' the era in which mortality is damned while selfishness became standard. But once the Phaders grew accustomed to decadence from their own experiences of chaos, they became the problem they set out to destroy. But through the many pages, he learned something about himself and the Archphader; it read:
"There is no doubt that the Phader is a truth-sayer for Sleeper. The words, however, are depicted from the perspective of lies rather than truth. If one can become strong through hard work, why hasn't every man followed this principle? The answer lies in birth; not all can live the same way as the fortunate Phader who was taken to their chapel of delight—As for me and the many others who live among these filthy streets. We live according to our previous actions, but what else is there to life when modernity is common? True freedom, Hettalies described such ideas in our youth; why not embrace these ideas if others are willing to partake in similar delight? To the realm of nightmares will boredom dwell!”
He responded to this idea: I had also seen how people treat others; this era is no different. Despite these barbaric practices, their meanings differ from mine in youth. And again, shall I press the idea of mortality in freedom… Such as the balance of labor and leisure so all can enjoy their life with tempered strife. One must grow, after all.
Again, he presses through the worn pages until he finds something that may help with his thoughts:
"A Phader's leadership is one of knowledge than experience. Books should always be read… these truth-sayers, however, should understand hardship through practice—not observation. Do they understand the plights of feeding a malnourished family through acts of robbery and murder? There was no job, no means of income. Preferably, the acts of brutality and troubadour practices are more beneficial. What did the Phaders do during the years of true freedom? They remain in solitude with their guards and maids… When resources became dry, old, and feeble, they took the wandering bastards so that their practices may repeat the cycle! How long until this collapse happens again? Will their students follow such cowardly ways?" After he read this passage, he considered the ideas while taking this book with two others on his way back. From there, he presses on through those pages and continues to observe while interacting with his surrounding environment.
