The Day of Aroesus Death

Splatters of mud coated the horse's sides, painting it with an encrusting layer of blackness at its belly and legs. As soon as the grime was washed away by the downpour, the beast's feet would crash into the ground and blast another layer upon itself. Despite the sunken ground and bottomless muddy ground, the horse somehow maintained its footing and progress, never seeming to sink so low into the mud as to become hindered. Atop it's shriveled body, a grim rider kept his body low, hiding behind the bobbing neck of his steed to shield from the stinging rain. Though obscured by a tattered black hood, the strike of lightning lit up his visage briefly enough to reveal a skeletal appearance, devoid of skin.

Ever onward the horse galloped, breaking past the trembling arms of half-sunken bodies in the mud, and dismissing the battering winds that threatened to throw him from the horse. His destination rose in the horizon like a black obelisk dripping with waters that cascaded down its sides from the uppermost funnels. The hill it rested upon was devoid of mud, and situated around the single staircase leading up sat countless huddled undead who sought shelter from the abyssal mud.

The rider swept past them, up the stairs atop his horse and straight through the heavy stone doors at its entrance. Immediately, the rider jumped from his horse and sprinted across the atrium to a set of staircases leading up the tower. His footsteps splashed water and mud about the dismal place, and given its darkness and emptiness, one was left to assume little care was given to such cleanliness or beautification. The rider found his way to the uppermost floor, down a set of halls, and burst immediately through double doors into a carpeted room. At the window's edge, a woman sat with her right leg dangling out, back rested upon the hole's inner side. Stopping at the door, the rider took a single knee and bowed his head before removing the hood to reveal his skeletal face.

The woman, briefly attentive only to the storm outside, turned her head and greeted to the rider with a forlorn mumble, barely audible in the wind and thunder.

"Miras... What unfortunate business has you riding so swiftly to my presence?"

"My lady, it is news from Hevas. Aroesus, he..." the messenger began, his head still bowed. Nanaeios, overseer of the plane of Malebazus, maintained her gaze out into the endless horizon of her rainy plane, and stretched out a hand into the storm, catching its torrential waters in her palm. She waited for Miras to muster the courage to finish his news. "He... he has died. Slain by assassins." With a smack, Nanaeios clenched her open hand together and turned her eyes to the skeleton in armor. A flash of lightning darkened her face, but failed to dull the vibrant yellow in her eyes.

"Oh?" she smiled, utterly uninclined to feel any semblance of sympathy. "Was it the boy, Lyrikes, perchance?"

"We do not know, my lady. We only know that he was utterly annihilated from the world itself. There is nothing left of him, or Lyrikes for that matter," the messenger stood up and looked towards Nanaeios, and though incapable of expressing his feeling due to the absence of skin, his stance was one of clear worry. He was readied for any task to be hasty and swift.

"And what of the Sharzunates?" Naneios asked, turning again to the world outside. The storm had calmed, seemingly, just enough that one could keep their body upright in the wind.

"The Sharzunates," Miras hesitated, "Aroesus's guards too have disappeared. There is no one there to guard it." Another flash of lightning. Naneios stood from her window and walked to Miras's side, stopping before leaving the room.

"Then we are left to assume that a certain lady has finally witnessed her chance at freeing the Derevi," she solemnly stated, "With great speed, warn the guards around Sharzunates to ready themselves for anything. I will visit Mysia to see if I cannot offer her my condolences." The skeleton bowed and hurried out the room and back to his horse as Naneios walked to the tower's roof.

Mysia followed the conversation of the two goddesses before her with some level of intent, although she remained somewhat bemused in her demeanor, as if the stress of recent events still plagued her. Much as she cared for her daughter, her recently developed 'situation' was a secret even from her, for, perhaps even the bond of family, strong as it was in the younger goddess, would still not be enough to temper ambition. Successive heirs were never ideal when one looked for their own power. The matter of her dead husband's city was something that did force her interest, well, forced it to the surface. The tube that had been given to her daughter intrigued her, but she had remained passive, she finally opened her mouth to speak, to comment on the enraging affront to the mortal city, before the shout broke out across the Palace, audible even in the gardens.

"Mysia! It is Sileon. I would speak with you."

His burning presence was near, and she visibly steadied herself, especially to counteract her impression of still being weak, with a forlorn glance to her daughter, along with a warning glare, she disappeared, her affinity with the palace, much as it was weakening, allowing her to travel across it in moments. She manifested in the growing shadows of the throne room, her aura reaching out and dousing what light remained, beyond the flames of his wings, she remained, in the shadows of the pillars even so, her voice seeming to project from all around. She doubted the ruse would help much, but she would not surrender her secrets to him without any hint of struggle.

"The man who was my brother, in the hall of the man who was my husband. A shame you were called here less and less...although, much of what happened towards the end was shameful." A hand pressed against the side of her stomach through her dress, a slight shiver running up her, despite the presence of the phoenix god, at the memory of the King's wrath and lust, even if she had never shown fear while he was alive, the memories of pain were not comfortable ones, and he was no longer here to hide that from.

"Speak then, defilers ravage what was his city, and I would rather see it in ashes then the cradle of vampirs."

"I came as called. I slept when not needed." And toward the end, that was often and longer, as Aroesus came to distrust his own brothers. Others had turned on him, so why not Sileon, the most like Ventu? And, he'd reasoned, Sileon turned on Ventu once as well. "I was told Lyrikes seduced Aroesus; they used some ritual to kill them both in their joining?"

The coeterie of Lyrikies, those left in the throne room, apparently were not acquainted with the directness of Aroesus' brother, and to say it as such to Mysia. Everyone was circumspect here, and that was perhaps why they were eternal inhabitants of Krona while Sileon was the occasional visitor -- he laid it bare without batting an eyelash. That, of course, was one of the reasons Aroesus sent for Sileon less and less, leaving the Dancer to slumber in his volcano for the centuries -- Sileon always asked questions. He didn't even seem to worry much about whether the questions might offend or if the answers were not comfortable. Fire, after all, was not subtle, nor was Sileon. Water wore down, wind eroded, earth moved slowly, but fire was sudden and flaring, it came directly and it consumed ferociously. The direct phrasing was a product of that -- there was no working up to delicate subjects with the youngest brother of Aroesus.

"It doesn't really matter though," again the candor, "Aroesus is dead. Who comes next to the throne?" And that, of course, was what everyone in Krona was wondering. In a sense, those that didn't know Sileon very well -- try everyone in the palace -- seemed to think that he was coming to claim the throne, though he only looked at it sideways, glancing without really seeing it. Others glanced at that throne in longing, but Sileon seemed to peer right past it. It was apparent -- the Herald was not a sophisticated being. He wasn't asking that question rhetorically.

He didn't know the answer.

"That is a question many are seeking to answer." Her voice became softer when it became apparent Sileon was not being aggressive, although perhaps the delicate followers of her ex-husband's lover would not know the difference with the direct god of flame, the shock, fear and indignation emanating from them, even as they cowered, brought a vicious smile to her lips. She had not been jealous of the wretched creature, but she had loathed how her husband had placed his own petty desires over the wants and needs of their own children, for that, the pretentious demi-god had earned her ire.

"I can answer that I do not want it, even if I thought I might. I will not sit where he sat, for fear of becoming him." It was not that she was averse to power or ambition, but that throne had done what more damage to those who sat on it than any conspiracy, and she did not wish that madness upon herself, even if she would not hesitate from manipulating the one who eventually sat it. The patron god of aristocrats would hardly ever stray far the throne, even in her wanderings across time, she had seen it more than any other place, even those dear to her.

"My children have the right perhaps, but I do not desire them for it, any more than any other, beyond that they would make better rulers than some. Will you simply become the attack dog for the next King of the Gods? Or do you wish something more, son of Ventu?" Her eyebrow rose, even if he couldn't see it, as she spoke, genuinely questioning the god. While she was better at masking herself, concealed in plots and schemes, the pair were both gods who could speak and act openly, a part of her was always from the cold North, a land of blunt and open talk. Short lives bred people who cared not for tricks and it was refreshing to find it in another, even if it was not something always found within herself.

"Fire burns," he answered, echoing Ventu.

"That is the purpose -- to destroy, to renew. Your brothers spend their days at their creations, but then I destroy them so as to remind them of the ultimate power." Ventu, of course, reveled in the smashing, and spoke of this revelry often to his youngest, the one stamped the most like him. And so it was how he knew that Ventu, inevitably, would destroy Aroesus and Svanus out of hand, those two who dared to stand against the destruction in defense of their creations. Ventu preferred the simpler existence, the straightforward and the taking of pleasure. In his old age, apparently Aroesus' lineage became clearer as well.

"And then it goes out. What use is a ruler who destroys and sleeps? Any time when I might have ruled is well past." Perhaps Ventu would have taken the throne gladly, and he would have started to destroy everyone's creations and children, but now there was too much of everything, and no one would ever give up so much of their power, their own interests. Sileon, who drew strength from something as fundamental as fire was also fundamentally unsuited for the sophistication of Krona and the ways of these gods.

When Aroesus was alive, he served, and he kept to his place. But now, some usurper might take the throne or some child. What did he owe them, securing this rule for them, being only viewed as their weapon? That brow creased beneath coal-dark hair as he contemplated -- a long time, for a god, of pondering and wondering. Sileon was never counted among the most glib of deities, or the most politically astute. Nonetheless, he thought on a different level and of different things, and was certainly thinking now. Some, what was left of the flunkies, watched in apprehension at what seemed an eternity of the flame god pondering his acts in the days to come.

"I will not rule. But neither will I serve." And with those words, it was Aroesus' own brother that decided to leave the Pantheon. It was, perhaps, fitting that he was called the Herald, for his announcement signaled the end of even a pretense of the old order.

The anger that had enveloped Avanid was red and glowing hot at the disrespect that was being shown to Aroesus’ family. Avanid though quickly pushed this anger down into the pit of her stomach to calm herself as best as possible. The red color to her skin fading away to her normal olive complexion. She stares at Lathunis hard for a moment. “Then I guess we will have to act sooner than I wanted with what I have to show you.” Avanid started walking and talking as she did the fury of wanting to go to the battle waging through her body, but held back by her need to get Lathunis the power she needed. “You need to take the eyes out of the cylinder and replace your own with them so I can show you, you’re birthright. A secret inheritance your father was having me build..” Her feet moved quickly across the ground as she made no move to dodge beautiful plants, simply shoving them or ripping them out of her path. She figured Lathunis would be right on her heels.

“We will have to fly To get there, but before we take off the eyes will be of the upmost importance unless you feel like being lost in the lake for some time.” She stops at where she had landed before she could still see the feet prints she had left behind. She stops and turns to Lathunis. “I know you will be confused when you open the tube, but trust me. I would never do anything to wrong you.” She takes a deep breath and waits her hands stroking the feathers of her skull helm and then starts to shift back into her raven form. Her body pops into weird angles and feathers begin to sprout from her skin. Slowly she begins to shrink down the raven skull helm melding with her flesh. She slowly turn into the raven she was before beady black eyes staring up at Lathunis. With a flap and a hop she lands on her friend’s shoulder and perches there.

Lathunis glanced at Avanid on her shoulder nervously and then back at the tube inside her hand. The cap was the same smooth metal as the rest of the cylinder, but looking at it created a pit in the bottom of her stomach. She knew by Avanid’s reaction that the eyes inside of this tube would not create happy feelings for her – that could mean only one thing. Her father’s eyes were inside of this tube. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly removed the lid from the tube. Her eyes still closed, she empty the tubes contents into her hands. She felt the warm presence of the round eyes in her hand and slowly cracked her own. There, in her palm, lay her father’s eyes. They had the same glint that they had held while he was alive, she could see the man he was before his ending years of corruption. She had to stop herself from letting a tear escape her eye. Lathunis had to steel herself quickly for what came next.

A cold, silver knife appeared in her hand, shimmering in the light of Krona. The cold blue of Aroseus’ eyes almost matched the knife’s silver sheen. Her own eyes were so different, warm and gold. Changing her eyes felt like changing that which she was. But she had to do it, not for herself, but for Avanid, her mother, her father, and most of all those of the mortal realms that had no one loyal enough to stand up for them. With one quick movement, almost imperceptible, she cut her eyes from their sockets and let them float softly in the air in front of her. Aroseus’ eyes, held in her left hand, were quickly placed in her empty sockets. The feeling of the foreign eyes brought Lathunis to tears, the last few emotions of Aroseus’ life quickly rushing into her essence. She fell to her knees, gasping.

The entire scene was something that could only take place in the world of gods. Avanid watched on in interest as Lathunis stared at the eyes of her father in her palm. “I am sorry it was the only way Lathunis.” Avanid hopped off of Lathunis shoulder as the knife plucked out the golden eyes of her friend. The raven head watched in interest as Lathunis went about the grizzly work. With the blue eyes of Aroesus now in Lathunis skull Avanid cawed in approval. She hopped about in distress though as he friend went to her knees in a meltdown of sort. She gave a slight flap and landed in Lathunis’ lap. “You have to be strong. You have to be. Your father’s city will fall if you can’t pull yourself together. We have things to do and not much time.” She ruffled her feathers a bit making herself looking a bit bigger than she actually was. Her beak clicked a few times as she hopped off her lap and started to fly in circles above her friend.

“I know this is hard Lathunis, but your army awaits you, and they will be needed to ensure your rule that way no one destroys what your father worked so hard to create.” She closes her eyes and flips around to dive towards Lathunis causing a whistle in the air then pulls up last second missing the Goddess completely. “We must go! Now! A army of champions and heroes awaits you!” She wasted no more time and flies high into the air expecting Lathunis to follow. They had to take the army combat these Vampires or the city might very well be lost. She clicked her beak in irritation and knew she was wrong to be so pushy with one so grieving as her friend was, but there was simply no time to waste.

Caesilinus bled as it burned. The human population was rapidly losing ground, and the scales were now tipping in favor of the night-kin. Metanoia, the righteous fool, could not have made his presence in the city less impactful if he tried. His great, azure nimbus was a warning beacon to vampires and their servants alike. Creatures long used to the scorn of gods, it was all too easy from them to avoid his rampage, and as a result, he mostly killed civilians that had been turned to vampires or nulls against their will. At this rate, by the time the sun rose, there would not be a single living human left in the city. However, where there were beasts, there must also be a master.

The city gates, long since blown open, were cleared of debris and bodies to ease the arrival of the city's conquerer. Horses black as tar with hungry eyes and fanged mouths pulled a dark, ornate carriage through the crimson-stained streets. A procession of considerable size followed the carriage; knights, heralds, men-at-arms and sorcerers marching on equally monstrous steeds, as well as slavering werewolves bound by heavy chains. Those that roamed the streets could tell their identity by instinct. Zombies ignored them, nulls fled them, ghouls prostrated themselves before them, and vampires bowed ceremoniously.

The procession stopped before the Temple of Aroesus in the city square, which had so far been left alone by the invading fiends. The priests within assumed this fortune was due to the divine authority carried by their dead god. They were quite thoroughly wrong. They were being saved for dessert. The carriage opened, and from it emerged a woman of almost divine beauty. A scarlet dress, cascading locks of golden hair and piercing amber eyes. She boldly strode up the steps of the temple, flanked by knights clad in black armor. One of her attendants hurried ahead of her into the temple, and emerged with a struggling priest of Aroesus in hand.

Now stood at the temple's entrance, another of the woman's retainers handed her a massive sword, nearly as long as herself, and the priest was forced to bow before her. With a single, swift blow, she beheaded the man, leaving his body to slump on the steps and his head to bounce all the way down to the streets below. She ran her tongue down the length of the bloodied blade, her fangs flashing in the city's dying lights.

"Brothers and sisters," She proclaimed, gaining the attention of any monsters within earshot, "This city is ours! For the glory of our father, and the might of Vaslonya!"

It is said that all things go in cycles. Even we who are immortal will rise and fall and with each cycle a little more wears away until nothing is left. I remember the days before Aroesus the Tyrant, I remember when we held dominion over our Mother’s shell, and I remember well those days. Humans were just a speck on the tapestry of reality that we had forged; the brutes had not yet gained their dominion over our children.

But most I remember when I was not alone. The rumblings of Aldaril’s very steps that shook the earth, Marra’s sparkling seas and joyous laughter like the crashing of the waves, Nyxis and his storms that purged and tore down the artifice of arrogant man, Lloris and his ever burning flames that warmed the world, and Glissa’s heart trees and forests that truly lived and walked. And then I saw his coming, the Tyrant descending from outside of our world, a being not of our Mother but with terrible power.

I can remember the pain and agony of that war where my brothers and sisters were imprisoned and my children were slaughtered until only a fraction of them remained. I remember how at the end Mother stirred for a last time and gave a cry of grief and sorrow before retreating so deep into herself that even in the depths I cannot sense her presence.

For so long I bent the knee to the Tyrant and for so I have tried to bury the pain and forget that my brothers and sisters lay imprisoned and tortured. I have tried to accept that the Tyrant is unassailable, that his strength from beyond is more than even the strength our mother gave to us. But I could not accept it in my heart and now the world has changed again. The Tyrant has fallen and his power is no more.

I stand before the gates that I once created and with me is the last multitude of my children. One last flock of Derevi. I hate that I now risk them but I know that in time they can recover now. No longer are my children condemned to death, now they can breed anew.

My hands rise and I speak words to command the gate to open. I see a face form in the metal of the gate as the spirit within rises to receive the commands. It nods and I allow myself a grim smile as the gateway opens. I reach into myself and with a second’s effort I change, humanity is discarded like a snake sheds it’s skin and I become myself again.

I enter the stream of water that is now free to fall through the gate in my true form, the great black wings spread wide where once human arms were as I take the guise of the greatest of all Derevi. I feel my children follow me, eager to aid in this act and my heart is warmed.

From the water I burst as the expanse of Malebazus spreads out below me and again my children follow. I dive for the lake as the Derevi swarm above it to ward off any incursions. I shall free them, I shall free my brothers and sisters.

(A collab between Sing and Muse)
The sound of Avanid’s voice slowly pulled Lathunis back to reality. She was silent still for a few seconds as she gathered her composure but one word echoed through her head: army. Lathunis was not typically one for revenge, but the eyes had slightly changed her. She wanted to destroy the people who had destroyed her father. She was not particularly interested in taking up the throne after he left, but she wanted those damned gods who had betrayed him annihilated. First on her list was that god who had dared to defile the dead god king’s city.

Lathunis watched as Avanid ascends and quickly changes herself, she fell to her knees as her body sprouted feathers all over, her face melting outward into a hooked beak like a hawk. She shrunk and her arms spread out into wings, her feet turned into three toed talons. The eyes of her father slowly shifted into the yellow eyes of a hawk as well. With a hard flap of her wings she shot off the ground keeping up easily with the smaller raven ahead of her. The wind blew quickly past the pair as they flew over Lake Miphas. At first Lathunis would likely be thinking that Avanid was leading her nowhere, but quickly out of the fog an island appeared that normally wasn't there - it was only with the use of Aroesus eyes that Lathunis could have ever seen it.

The wind whipped past Avanid as she pulled her wings in tightly, taking a dive towards the island. The feeling was exhilarating the plummet, the drop in elevation to the sand covered beach below where what seemed to be men fought ferociously with each other. Upon closer inspection, one would notice that the men were not men at all, but the souls of men made immortal by their honorable deaths in battle. Lathunis realized this was where Avanid had been taken those souls all along. She landed upon a rock and quickly changed back into her goddess form. Standing among all the warriors, she raised her hands. "All of you gather around! The day has come when you are called to battle! To meet your leader! The one who will command where your blades go! The one who will call orders for you to bring death to those who stand against our Divine might!" She turned to face Lathunis once she landed and takes a deep breath. "My Lady... These men are yours to command… They are years of heroes who have fallen in battle. Only the most courageous are brought to live here. And they will die and kill at your beck and call." Lathunis nodded at Avanid, in awe of the men before her.

"Men!" she cried. "A shameless god marches upon the city of your fallen commander. He poisons the memory of Aroseus and attempts to selfishly gain power. I cannot accept this!" She paused, gazing out over the men who now stood in silence, staring at her. Her eyes moved across the crowd, taking in the look of each of the army of Fallen Men. "I am heading to Caesilinius tonight. If any of you want to join me, you are welcome!" The silence of the crowd was quickly forgotten as a cheer erupted. Lathunis hands shot straight up above her head and the torches all along the beach burned brighter than ever. The army before her silenced as words flowed from her lips once more. "March men! March! We will overtake that blasphemous god and reclaim Caesilinius in the name of my father! Those vampires that fight for him have are not men. They are lesser. They do not feel. They do not love. They feel loyalty to their creator and lust for blood. But do they know the love of a brother or sister or mother or father? Do they remember the feeling in one's chest when one's loved one dies? We are the greater warriors! We have passion! We will succeed!"

Avanid watched Lathunis, in awe of the way she was able to work these men into a fury of battle lust, and swords clashing against shields. Avanid decided though that it was time for her to step in. "Men! Through the lake! We will march from beneath the waves into the harbor of Caesilinius!" Avanid leapt off the rock, turning into a raven, and flew over the heads of the men and women that stood on the beach. She flew fast and hard out over the lake. The warriors that embraced Lathunis as their new leader followed quickly after running into the water of the lake and marching beneath it. Lathunis reformed into a hawk, jumping as she transformed, jumping becoming flight. Her wings spread wide as she glided to fly by Avanid's side. Beneath the water the two goddesses could see line after line of Marching heroes. Avanid looked to Lathunis and then back forward, if it had been possible to smile as a raven she would have been.

The goddesses and the men travelled the long distance quickly, covering leagues in mere minutes. They soon arrived at the harbor of Caesilinius, the moonlight reflecting off of the windows of the nearby buildings. The harbor was an abandoned sight, people having fled into the inner city during the fight. The vampires could be heard near the center of the city "celebrating" their victory, feasting on the innocent lower class survivors. Lathunis smiled; the scum was un-expecting of her armies nearing approach. It was a glorious sight as her army marched out from underwater in four by four squares. Her army was not the biggest, but the men were no ordinary men. Each man was worth five mortal men, stronger than the average vampire, and on the same level as one of the more ancient of the undead. Avanid and Lathunis landed on the beach to the left of where the men arose from the depths of the sea. Avanid quickly changed into her battle clothes, fur and iron enveloping her body. Her shoulder gaurd, all edges and iron, connected to two breasts plates. A fur skirt protected her bottom with slits to prevent movement restriction. She wielded a large falchion, that would have been unbearable to any mortal, easily in one hand. She looked over the beach and then back at Lathunis as she began to change forms as well. Lathunis stood proud in the full glory of her armor. She wore a pleated leather skirt and a bronze breastplate. Both were gilded with gold, swirling patterns. In her hand was a broadsword that shone like a star which had a bright blue gem in the center of its hilt. Lathunis held her helmet under arm, smiling. Avanid was impressed with her friend's weapons and armor a smile coming across her lips having never expected this from the Goddess she would call Queen. Avanid brought her sword up and pointed towards the city. "Shield wall!" The Immortal, but not invincible warriors quickly gathered into a large grouping bringing shields around so that they were almost completely concealed from view. Avanid's head turned and yelled as loudly as she could her normally serene face awash with the lust for battle, her eyes wide and almost seeming to glow red, spittle flew from her lips, and it almost seemed as if thunder was cracking all around them. "We march to war!"

Still stood on the steps of Aroesus' temple, the Crimson Queen watched the city's goings-on diligently as she idly cleaned the blood from her blade. In her presence, the vampires and other such creatures had a newfound sense of direction and order, and were now guided purposefully rather than milling about like beasts. A null-herder had the Lady of Loss well distracted as the foolish god darted about like an overstimulated child. A small contingent of ghouls looted the temple behind her, eager to return its riches to Vaslonya. Despite all that was going as planned, she was still somewhat on edge. The final piece of this strategy was not yet in play, and there was nothing she could do to hurry its progress.

One of her advisors pulled her aside momentarily, "My lady, I have sensed a considerable spiritual presence within the lake. It is advancing on the western harbor as we speak."

That was sooner than expected. The Crimson Queen could not help the tinge of worry in her heart, as their answer to this was still nowhere to be seen. Still, there was nothing she could do but continue to follow the plan.

"Send word to the bloodchiefs: they are to evacuate through the south-eastern gate. Have the shamans and nighthawks leave through the north-east. Get the thrall-masters and null-herders to lead their hordes along the walls, but stay clear of the harbor. We'll buy time for their formation to complete."

"Yes, my lady."

The Crimson Queen stood dutifully, her tremendous blade sunken into the solid stone she stood on. The lesser monsters were willed to congregate toward her, so as to draw the attention of the incoming force. Her personal guard readied themselves; her black knights drew their blades and her dark sorcerers focused their unholy power. Her pet werewolves, both calmed by the scent of blood on the wind, sat obediently at the temple's base. With whatever, followed, things were about to become interesting.

The sound of war drums filled the air, intermingled with the sounds of hundreds of hoofbeats - as the armies of mortal men rallied to answer Daeros’ call. The mortals moved with a vigour that was rarely seen; excited as they were to earn the favour of the whimful God, who had already begun to stylize himself as the successor to Aroseus as the new King of the Pantheon.

King Oruous, shaken as he had been by Daeros’ sudden appearance in the midst of his court, had rushed to do the God’s bidding - all too keen to repay the God the debts he owed him, and earn his favour once again. Riders had sped out from the King’s sprawling palace and away from his kingdom, heading for the courts of all of their King’s allies; telling them of the God’s appearance, of the death of Aroseus, and the availability of Caesilinius - how it was ripe for the taking, and that all those who helped in its capture would earn the favour of the Gods.

Whilst Oruous had gathered his men and those of his allies, Daeros had visited the palaces of numerous other mortals, collecting his debts - calling upon the allegiance that they owed him as their patron. Within the space of a few weeks, thirty-five thousand fighting men had been mobilised, and arrived at a central mustering point roughly fifteen miles from the Holy City of Caesilinius.

As the humans had readed themselves for war, Daeros had watched the city of Caesilinius closely. He had seen Mikazliqui and their servants descend upon the great city, and watched on, powerless to help, as the majority of the mortal population was slaughtered - as Caesilinius’ value, its power was splattered upon the cobblestones of the city. For, Daeros knew, without the people’s adoration, Caesilinius was nothing. It was from worship that Aroseus had drawn his power.

The God had watched as Metanoia had descended upon the city, surrounded by a blinding blue light. If there was one way to make an entrance, that was it - whether it was foolish or not. Regardless, Daeros had continued to watch as the citizens of Caesilinius battled against the dark forces that had invaded the Holy City; but, eventually, they were bested - and Mikazliqui was victorious.

Daeros had considered announcing his presence to the dark God, and asking to join him; or even marching in battle against him directly. But he had no desire to enter into an alliance with such a cruel being, and knew that the armies of men stood no chance against such dark forces; despite how many humans had rallied to his cause, they would be slaughtered by the evil God’s servants.

Distraught, Daeros had been about to give up on his hopes of claiming the city as his own - when he heard the echoing voice of Lathunis; and had felt her presence, and the power of the army she marched with. Perhaps she would be victorious - or perhaps she would be defeated. Either way, the dark forces that had taken over Caesilinius would be weakened, and Daeros would stand at a much greater chance of claiming the city as his own.

“Ready yourselves, mortals,” The God’s voice echoed out, through the encampments of his great host. “We may yet win this fight.”

Unlike so many the woman who stood upon a mount to the south of Caesilinius still grieved and was wrapped in sorrow; her golden eyes were still damp with the tears that she had shed since the news that her once beloved Aroesus had been slain. Her tears made damp lines over her silver cheeks as they rolled down her achingly beautiful face. Somehow; even the deepest well of true grief was not enough to make her anything but heartstoppingly beautiful.

Vaela wept where there was no one to see her weep; she had been strong when the news came to her; when the wave that signaled her brother’s death had swept across the world. She’d been strong in front of her highest priests and priestesses; strong even as the pulse hit her in the midst of the most intimate act that she presided over.

Her silver gown fluttered in the wind as it gusted over the hilltop and blew through her hair too. She didn’t notice the chill that it held. Vaela had felt Sileon awaken and she had come here to call to her brother. She could have ascended to Krona but there was nothing there anymore; the whoring bitch who had stolen Aroesus from her still lived there and Vaela would never give Mysia the satisfaction of seeing her in her moment of grief.

Aroesus had been a true leader, and he had sought her out after their father rejected her. He had shown her kindness and accepted her love in return; Vaela just knew that it was Mysia’s fault that Aroesus had changed. Even changed he had still been the brother she had embraced, the leader she had followed, and the lover she had once claimed; and even changed she had never doubted him until the very end.

“Brother” The Queen of Grace and Beauty said softly in a voice that would carry to Sileon alone; “I would speak with thee.” The message was simply but the grief and need came through clearly.

Vaela knew he would come; she raised her eyes to the sky to watch for the streak of fire that had always been her brother’s herald. She did not fear Sileon’s wrath but as she conjured braziers from which fire and sweet smoke emerged to light the hill the shimmering of her bow and quiver on her back revealed that she did not think the world safe.

She let herself grieve as she waited for when Sileon arrived she would need to act. The bitch who had stolen Aroesus had to be stopped; there was no doubt in her mind that Mysia had played a role in his death. And there was succession too; Vaela knew of truths that Sileon needed to know. Truths of Aroesus’ children.

There was nothing left to be said in Krona, and that meant that Sileon turned on a heel, abruptly, and strode from the crumbling throne room of Aroesus as an ever-dissipating group of servants and courtiers, cut off from the power of Aroesus (or Lyrikes, as some were his cronies) languished for lack of sustenance in the form of the deity that patronized them prior. Mortals aged and died, but these immortal servants faded, literally, from corporeal form and into the aether. Bit by bit, they became less flesh-like and more ghostly, particularly to the acute sight of a deity, who could perceive the subtle shifts of such thing.

Krona will be a place of dust, soon, Sileon thought to himself with characteristic lack of sentimentality -- Aroesus was dead, what did it matter if his palace crumbled, it wouldn't bring him back even if it were preserved. It would only hold memories, and Sileon had about as much use for memories as he did for a throne. Nor did he have any regard for the niceties of Krona, a thing Aroesus enjoyed immensely, or the inhabitants that practiced it, which was why he left quickly.

The same inhabitants that seemed to be withering in the way of servitor spirits and immortal clients cut off from their patronage watched the departing Sileon with a sense of shock mingled with despair – for they were the clients of Aroesus and, in some cases, Lyrikes, who were both dead. Mysia, for her own reasons, witheld herself from them, but seemed to give them a sudden renwed hope for salvation after all when she abruptly and rather bluntly offered the Dancer the throne of the Gods. Then came the abrupt and blunt denial of the throne and even the defiant act of resigning from the Pantheon – others rebelled in deed, but not in word, as the Herald did.

His rapid stride took him through the halls of Krona and to the place where he'd landed in the first place, though the shiver of a summons took him off his stride for a moment in those halls; it jolted him out of his reverie and cast his attention toward the source of it – the summons took everyone differently, but for Sileon it was a warmth in the distance that became warmer as he approached it.

He dove off the edge of the platform and into lake Miphas itself, and then from the floor of Miphas into the Nasan falls and into the skies of the mortal realm itself, coalescing into his typical flaming bird of prey as he streaked across the sky over Caesilinus. In most days, mortals would note that flame as a portent, but none were noticing tonight, in the throes of the wanton slaughter that went on below. And while the city burned and bled, Sileon noticed it little, once a glance and his own instinct confirmed that it was not a summons from inside the city.

So, it wasn't his temple, then. More like a puny shrine, though it had the soaring spires that characterized the architecture style he'd inspired on Kaeus. It was, as all other temples, in the shadow of Aroesus' own, and Sileon was never one to cultivate a worship base – the mortals came to him of their own accord, for the most part, and were a strange group of people who saw inspiration and portent in the flames, who adopted a philosophical and esoteric bent. Their patron was not himself a philosophical being, and yet the followers were. But it was not the handful of orange-robed men, mostly men, protecting a few others that sought the shelter of his temple from the blood-lusting brood of Mikazliqui who were the source of the summons. And that set him to questioning what -was- the source of the summons?

It was beyond. There was a hill overlooking the city, a place where the summons emanated from, and more was made clear as his flaming bird of a form flared up along the crest of the hill – for Sileon was never subtle in his arrivals, that being his nature – as he discerned what was calling him.

Blood could, indeed, call to blood.

It was a moment later that the young man-form of Sileon, eternally the youngest of Ventu's brood, the one that heir that Ventu wanted, emerged from the flames that his sister had set him, once again a mortal-seeming man of coal-dark hair and lambent eyes in a loose robe of orange regarding his sister-counterpart.

Caesilinus' screams sounded in his ears, even from this distance, as did the gathering of forces within and without it – it was an incredible vantage for some who would enjoy such a spectacle, but the battle and its political implications among the deities did not interest him. Sileon was never one to do more than one thing at once, wholly, and his attention, for the moment, was wholly on Vaela.

“You sent a summons. For what?”

Vaela’s quiet grieving was brought to an end when she saw the firebird appear in the sky far above; her soft sobs were stifled and she brought herself under control, though there were still signs of her tears etched on her beautiful face. She wanted control; she needed control over herself. But she was still struggling to fully compose herself when her brother stepped out of the fires that she had lit to call him.

The Queen of Grace and Beauty did not act with cunning or deceit; when he asked why she had sent for him she could see so much of her greatest love in her youngest brother that she let her emotion loose again. For a moment she embraced him, careless of the flames or fire; for she saw in him the closest thing to what she had lost and her sobs escaped again with her tears. Then Vaela pulled back and composed herself; her hair straitening itself neatly around her face and ivory horns.

“Brother, Aroesus is dead. The deceiver Mysia wasn’t content to steal him and poison his mind. She has slain him!” Her words were less elegant and honey coated than normal; raw with her own pain and loss. Vaela shuddered with hatred and unbridled malice.

“She thinks that without Aroesus you will be blind and that she will escape your fury while she sets herself above all! She thinks that there are no true children of Aroesus that she has not poisoned with desire to serve her.” Vaela’s voice rose to a peak of genuine rage, finally displaying the destructiveness her father had always desired of her.

“But the witch is wrong. I have carried for him true sons, free of her taint. Sileon; my brother, will you aid me and Aroesus true sons as once you aided him? I will not command you. I am not our brother, who alone had that right, but as your sister I ask your aid.” By the end her voice had calmed to a dangerous whisper and red had crept into her normally golden eyes as a sliver of the Mistress of Spite and Envy showed through.

Sileon's declaration and flight from the palace had not been unexpected, in fact, quite the opposite. She felt neither particular frustration or elation at his decision to leave the pantheon, or, as she had proposed, taken the throne for himself, he was simply another piece in the grand scheme of things she would not have to contend with, at least in regards to the succession. It was then the divine sight of her gaze finally fell upon the city of Caesilinus. It was not love for Aroesus that stirred her attention, even if her past affections for him still burned as an afterthought, it was the threat to the order of things, the rampant destruction and the bleeding of her own faithful. Unlike many, she was not particularly loathe of the vampires, they were, after all, simply creatures, any fault in their creation was not their own, but still, she would not have their actions sully the streets of her husband's city, nor abide the actions of the upjumped for long. Back in the days of their closest bonding, Mysia and Aroesus had nearly been one, their divinity warping together, and there were still relics from that time, relics she pulled on to bring her to the mortal plane, to the roof of his greatest temple.

With a flash of blinding light, sending those remaining attendants, some brave enough to even try and approach her, scuttling, the form of Mysia appeared, the golden light becoming all that she could perceive. A similar flash denoted her arrival on the mortal plane, a streak of golden light leaping upwards, visible for miles, those in the city not busy fucking, being killed or fleeing couldn't help but draw their eyes to it, and many who were engaged in such acts perceived it to. Even if the light was grand, she appeared the size of a simple human, if somewhat taller, and so was barely visible even from those at the feet of the temple, but she could survey the whole city, once her senses were free of the golden light. The city was burning, although that was hardly just the fault of the invading forces, it had been self-destructing and they had taken advantage of it. The streets would have been running red, had the vampires not been feasting, no doubt. Even if the loose billowing robe around her remained in place, black armour began to form over her visible shoulders and the passing visibility of her legs, the darkness of the plate visible across her form beneath the robe, even if it avoided the pale expanse of her stomach, not wishing to give any hints to its shape. Her horns extended, as her body adapted to the rage building inside her.

It was only a few moments before the transformation was complete, her crown, usually gold, had melded with her horns to form an ivory headdress, her pale skin shimmered, appearing almost reptilian. Coal black gauntlets grasped a great sword, the guard appearing as two mirrored dragon maws. Her eyes blazed as two orbs of fire and even in this slight form, the pull of her divinity reached the mortals in the city below. When her voice finally sounded forth, it came as a boom, full of rage, ripping across the city and to its surrounding hinterlands.

"Caesilinus will be ashes before it belongs to the dead."

The blade leapt from her hands, driving into the stone path at the bottom of the flights of stairs leading up to the temple, marble splitting beneath the huge weapon, before cracking as lines of read heat seared out from it, eventually forming a circle around the grand temple, igniting vampire and destructive human alike at touch, while leaving those simply seeking shelter in the divine halls. Once the circle was complete, a transparent shield of red light began o form over the temple, like a bubble, the same incantation as below sheltering the greatest shrine of her husband, as well as those closest to him, who's shrines occupied space close to the great temple. An enforced sanctuary, none trying to fight over the city could enter its shield, beyond the divine themselves, irregardless of allegiance.

Then, Mysia hesitated, her base instance was to give in to the Dragonheart, to allow her rage to rule her and take the form she had been born to, but the city wasn't so far gone that only fire could save it, even though her nails were already forming into draconic claws, her body's instincts struggling with her mind, forming a compromise, for now. The King of the Dead could not allow this situation to go on for long, the divine powers aligned against his mortal followers would soon overwhelm them, and rob him of a great influence on the mortal plane, so she doubted the situation would remain a mortal conflict, even still, the city was fast approaching the need of a purge, and the Dragon Queen would be most inclined to provide.

"I know," he told her, once the embrace was done and Vaela spoke her words, "I went to Krona to see for myself that Aroesus was dead. The palace is crumbling and his servants are fading away." Sileon was not one to soften the blow or the imagery, nor did he quite understand why the next bit of news would be upsetting, "Krona will be gone soon. It's already cracking asunder."

"If Mysia seeks to rule, she has a strange way of saying so," Sileon replied -- others would be wry, he was calm as he commented. Vaela was taken to fits of emotion, but Sileon was much like Ventu in that he was more elemental, simple and straightforward. Aroesus was the one that wrought man, not Sileon, though it was he that inadvertently made the gift of fire without realizing what he bestowed upon mortals. It was a fable the children heard from their priests, how the fire god was a good brother, and so should they all be good siblings to their children. The priests, of course, never saw the pantheons at play -- there was a different dimension of sibling rivalry here, with the stakes so high, but the ideal and the reality clashed in Hevas as it did on Lymaeus, though with far greater stakes than one might realize. It didn't occur to Sileon that he was being sounded out here.

"She said that she would not wish to sit on that throne, for fear that it would make her like Aroesus." He told her, "But she did mention that her children had the right of rule." He seemed to shrug that part off, especially as he pondered the request, to prolong the pantheon, to present it already built to some heir, to be anointed without striving, to have without making, to inherit rather than earn. It was the same choice Ventu gave to him and he gave his answer then as now.

"Pantheons have come and gone before us, between the rule of Father and our brother," Sileon told her, for he had been part of those eras of strife, when new kings rose and were crowned, until the rule of Krona stood, "and there will be another Pantheon. But this one is ended. There is a natural cycle, you know. Things to be born, to flourish..."

It was the sort of talk that came out of Svanus before he died-- he killed himself to give birth to a daughter, rather than make his brothers come and kill him for his rebellions. Svanus and Sileon were utterly different in that one was a creator and the other a destroyer, with Aroesus as the balancer, and yet it seemed the two brothers least like each other found common ground; both were cryptic, neither thought in the same straight lines as the other. It was the talk that drove Ventu to rage, for he'd never appreciated the creations or their disruption of his perfect order.

"And to die. It must burn to be born anew." It was something Ventu always said, and if Sileon was less of a burner than the First King, taught a semblance of balance in his associations with his siblings, he still understood that sooner or later, things must burn.

Vaela had her answer, though it was probably not one to her liking. And Sileon turned to watch the battle below.

Light. Bright, hot, sterile light. Shining from everywhere, beaming out from him. He could feel it racking through his body. And it burned.

He felt the energy inside him, the raw power. He shuddered at the energy coursing through his veins. He felt the scorching blast of light scourge his skin, felt it tear away at his mind, piece by piece. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t die. He’d been like this for so long. It was too much. For all this time, all these millennia, he had been fighting. Fighting to escape, fighting the energy, fighting for vengeance against the god that did this to him. All for nothing. He still wasn’t free. Behind him he could hear the lion that dragged him across the sky every day. There was no way out.

Then he woke up. That was how it felt, so great was the change. It was like a blindfold had been removed from his eyes, allowing him to see. And he saw. He saw how he would escape. All this time, he had been fighting the energy, when he should have allowed it to run through his body and soul. Wincing, Samael let the power course through him.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, even in these millennia of torment. A tiny part of his mind remained conscious, howling in the storm of his power. He managed to take the energy, to control it. He willed it with every last atom of his soul to burn through the chains that shackled him to the lion. At last, they broke, and Samael was free. But he didn’t have any time to celebrate, as a deafening roar testified to. He turned to the giant lion, gleaming with golden light. He raised his spear- the one he’d been clutching onto ever since his fight with Aroesus, he whom he hated most- and walked towards the lion.

‘Come on, you thrice-accursed bastard. I’ll have my freedom yet…’

---

Weeks later

Falling. Speeding through the heavens, sky and land melding together into one blur. Across the sky, a streak of blazing light scoured down to the earth. It hurtled down towards a city, by fate or mere coincidence. Samael stirred, murmuring to himself as he woke up. His eyes widened as he saw that he was about to plough into a street. In desperation he released a shockwave of energy, halting his descent. He slowly floated down to the flagstones, confused and bewildered.

What was this place? Could it be- the mortal realm? A city. Home. Freedom.

Out of the corner of his eye, Samael caught a glimpse of something red. He turned, and his eyes narrowed. The disassembled corpse of a child lay on the street corner. Samael walked over towards the body, noticing as he did so the screams and guttural howling in the background. He ran towards the source of these sounds, and slowed as he saw the scene of a huge and brutal battle. Women ran from bestial horrors, desperate to protect their children. Men took desperate stands, unarmed and unarmoured, trying to buy enough time for their families to escape. Children were mercilessly hunted down. Those that were killed were lucky. Those that were not rose again, as mockeries of the vampires that had changed them. This wasn’t a battlefield.

This was an abattoir.

There was no glory in this bloodshed. There was no honour in killing those who could not fight back. There was no valour in hunting a de-clawed beast. Samael clenched his fist in quiet rage.

He roared into the heavens and opened his hand, releasing a wave of sunlight. It scourged into the undead, obliterating them. He ran into the smoke and rubble and began to fight the remaining vampires. When he was done he raced to the next group, and the next, and the next. It was an unending haze of white, burning light. But there were always more. There were always some who hid in the shadows. Samael snarled and blazed up into the sky.

He was high now, far above the city. He could see the extent of the fighting now. It was a slaughter. Roaring once more, he let the power course through his body, radiating from him. He screamed in agony, but fed more and more power out. He lit the city up with his sunlight, trying to blind the undead. They ran for cover, desperate to escape the sunlight.

He started to fly back down to the city, when something caught his eye. At the south-eastern gate a large collumn of undead were retreating. He low growl uttured from his throat, and he flew towards them. He landed with a blast of energy, turning the flagstones to rubble. Without pause, he ran into their midst and set to impaling them with his burning spear. The undead had more power than the others, but Samael was bursting with it. He created golden sun beams, cutting through armour like sunshine through glass. When the smoke finally cleared, he fell to his knees in pain. The energy inside him was twisting, boiling, bursting through his body. He gritted his teeth and bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

When the pain eased enough, Samael slowly stood back up. He launched into the sky, and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. More undead were leaving by the north-eastern gates. He wouldn't allow these abombinations to escape with their lives this day. Not after what they had done. They were...

Dishonourable.

Samael roared his fury at the stars, and dived into the throng of fleeing undead. He fought with bloody determination, a grimace painted on his face. He derived no pleasure from this bloodshed. Well, that wasn't quite true. He relished it. He loved disintegrating every last one with his light. He smiled as he ripped through undead after undead. They should never have come here, thought the more melancholy parts of him. So much suffering, and for what?

For power, of course.

Inside, Samael roared.

The crows flew in giant murders, eating the crop of the rich and mighty while the dark robed followers of Lefredias slit the throat of generals, princes and kings. A tidal wave of darkness drowned the world from the outskirts as the The Shadow of Ambitions swept the nations on his flight towards the Capital of Gods. For while other bickered, he grew in strength. The many dark omens that now plagued prophets and the way vampir and other foul beings rose to sudden prominence scared the people. And when there was fear, there was Uncertainty. Lefridas had no interest in the throne itself at the moment, he had interest in the beings around it, in the struggle. He wanted it to continue, and he wanted a frail winner in the end. Failing that he wanted someone who would allow Lefridias to grow further, Corruption came into mind. They both were worshiped by politicians, they worshiped the god of corruption for influence but their corruption in turn led their subjects into rebelling against them. A cycle of new order, corruption and finally rebellion. Indeed it might be beneficial to Lefredias to put the fool on the seat of power.

And so the Prince of change steered his steps ever towards the capital.

-

The oppressed had long waited for the capitals fall. The provinces outside of the capital were in complete uproar now that nobles and guardsmen were burning within the capital. The coming of the Vampir and the blood firsty hordes that served the blood thirsty Mikazliqui proved a blessing for these people. The people outside the city walls were hardy and intelligent folks that had fled and hunkered down. And the hordes had seemed more focused on the capital and the people outside the walls, away from the the slaughter instead dealt with brigands that took the opportunity to raid the villages or plague the roads. A time of uncertainty indeed. Lefredias had never seen been a supporter of violence without purpose, blood thirst was folly and all rebellions could be fought in different ways he had realized long ago. But He was the Prince of Change however and the foolish Mikazliqui was doing him a great favor with letting his followers swarm. For in all the revocable change that was being caused, Lefredias found his champion. And with his new found playground, his followers had done well to spread his word and gathered people under his banner. One such follower was Nefla.

A young, charismatic woman , Nefla is the illegitimate child of the very tribe that first settled the lands around the city. Long marginalize and driven away by the God Kings followers, they have long simmered just on the edge of open rebellion. But the old order saw fit to bolster those that oppressed them. But now Nefla saw Lefredias in her dreams and her eyes swelled with tears as she threw herself at his feet. For her people had taken to worship him long ago. They were the first to recognize his coming and what it represented.

“MY LORD” Her voice sounded almost like that of a child, her excitement making it crack. Lefredias smiled underneath the porcelain mask.

“Raise your head Nefla. I know of your sorrows, your pain, your desperation. Your uncertainty sings to me, you need answers. I can lead you to a end, but the only way is to take up arms. To rebel against the source. TO long have you suffered under the whip of civilization. “ Lefredias voice was like a million little whispers that wrapped themselves around Neflas heart. Gods were not made as mortals, their influence absolute should they want it and Lefredias had found his champion for this conflict.

“My lord. I am but impoverished outcast. I have no army to my name, just honest men that protect our villages from single strays of the foul one.”

“Have you not long killed taxmen and the like in defiance of the capital?” Came Lefredias answer, again gripping the womans heart with doubt. Making her question herself, her every decision up to this point. And it only made her desperation grow.

“Yes... But those were mortals. What is a scythe to a Vampir?” She demanded to know, and her god could see the fire of rebellion growing withinher, she questioned everything around her, she would do well In the time to come.

“You and yours will be cloaked in the shadows of giants.“ Lefredias spoke again, a myriad of boices not human yet so pleasant. “I will give you a banner of deepest black cloth and you will drink from the Darkness within you. Turn the desperation into the sharpest claw as a cornered man can fell six others in sheer desperation. Turn that uncertainty into a tool to question those that would try and rule you and rise to lead your people in rebellion. The other villages will join you, they know the winds of change are blowing.” It was ironic, that he had to make a fanatic out of person, but otherwise his presence might sway their heart to much, uncertainty was a greater weapon when he could bolster it in his foes.

“Go now. Get your people. Brake the shackles and fly on the wind of change!”