Daiden noticed the world distort upon entry into the Sea of Trees. His vision blurred for a moment and readjusted to the stillness around him. He appreciated the strange hues of blue and green, but the situation bothered him, nonetheless – an absence of visible movement. He clicked his tongue, overwhelmed amidst the presence of tall trees and tangled, dense vegetation. His body felt little warmth, with barely any sunlight around him. He walked, paused, frowned, and walked again. It irritated him, the effect that muted even the sound of his own footsteps. Daiden cursed in whispers, in frustration. He gritted his teeth, stomped on the ground with immaturity, and persisted until the emergence of a warm light.
With a deep sigh, Daiden thanked God Ehedus once more, in deep appreciation of his boon. His calm allowed for clearer judgment. He moved towards the nearest tree and observed it, intently. His fingers brushed against the moist wood, stopping at parts to experience the red sap. It fumed at the slightest of provocations.
“The source of the red mist,” concluded Daiden, with certainty. “I don’t sense any discomfort from it…Maybe I’m overthinking this journey; the High Lord would’ve at least warned me of such an effect.”
Daiden shrugged and continued along the straight path in front of him. He resisted the temptation of deviance, but stopped at the sight of something abrupt, almost deliberate. Daiden gulped; he heard it this time. It tapped and tugged at his insight, urging sensitivity to the conditions around him. He started to notice more now, from the moisture underneath his feet, to the stale vegetation. His face distorted with an odd mix of emotions. It bothered him, the state of a forest that somehow lingered in transition between life and death. His gaze steadied in that moment, at a little distance from his feet. He knelt and confirmed it, the head of a three-eyed squirrel, not cut, but torn.
The leaves stirred.
“That’s a first,” remarked Daiden, quickly. He summoned Takshaka and tightened around the grip. “Keep to the straight path.”
Daiden heard from around him, the illusion of a sound without direction. The whispers hastened, urging attention towards dark corners. He took a step, then one more; the leaves stirred again. Daiden held to his straight path, until the sounds narrowed to a definitive source. He lowered for a pebble, with his eyes fixated on the darkness.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
Daiden flung the pebble with force. It struck something, something hard. He heard another sound, only sharper this time, a screech.
Two spots of blue. Daiden noticed them surface from the darkness, close and yet apart. It burned with a proud ferocity, the eyes of a predator. With its second screech, the creature slowly revealed a thin limb from the bushes – sharp, almost stone-like in rigidity; it carefully touched at the pale grass and dragged back to the darkness. Daiden refused to stir. It wrung at his patience. But with a tickle, the creature poked from the leaves to offer a glimpse at its appearance – slimy, dark, and with thick streaks of blue aeter in a pattern around its body. Its maws moved with a passion, with hunger, with traces of flesh and blood.
“That’s an ugly, ugly hostility!” stammered Daiden, in a whisper.
***
Aelius groaned when his feet touched the ground. He dusted the residual lightning from his armour and stretched to better move his stiffened body. With a frown, he then turned to watch Magellan emerge from the dust, unscathed and without issue.
“I don’t think I’m too old, General,” mentioned Aelius. “But my joints ache when under your care.”
“My apologies, High Lord,” said Magellan, hurriedly. “I’ll moderate my aeter better in the future.”
Aelius Bloodheart slumped his shoulders and shrugged with annoyance. He had been with his General for over seven hundred years now, enough to have forged a bond beyond that of lord and subordinate. But as much as Aelius wished it, the dwarven warrior chose servitude over friendship, with a coldness, almost as if undeserving of the privilege. It bothered the Godvildian High Lord, who despite an incongruent personality, valued those of proven worth. He viewed Magellan as a brother almost.
“Well, as long as you’re around, dear friend,” thought Aelius, with a smile. Aloud he said, “Let’s make the march up…”
Aelius stopped at the smell of something familiar, blood. His face crumpled with disgust, Magellan’s as well. They continued at a steady pace and found a portion of the source in the minutes that followed. Aelius eyed the corpse of a soldier and traced along to hundreds more; it disgusted him. He swallowed his rage and trudged towards his destination, the toll only worsening with every step.
“High Lord, we appear to have caught a few of them as well,” noticed Magellan, suddenly. “Quite a few, in fact.”
“The soldiers at Sol Sanctum were well trained, strong enough to withstand a small army,” said Aelius, leaning over Magellan’s shoulder. “It would be interesting to know who they sent to break through the walls here.”
The dwarven warrior lifted the corpse by the collar, charred and mangled, almost beyond recognition, almost. He stepped a little away and noticed the elongated limbs, more so the tall, slender, yet muscular body.
“The Kula race, soldiers from the Second Lord of Relicta,” concluded Magellan, with a grim expression. “I can’t tell much else; this is a deliberate massacre.”
Aelius scratched his stubble with frustration, noticing thousands, scattered along with the bodies of his own soldiers. He appreciated the gesture, but not without question. His ears perked in that instant, at the sound of a pained groan. Aelius pointed to the direction with his chin. After a short sprint, the dwarven warrior waved his arm in confirmation of an enemy soldier.
The two men hovered over the Kula person without emotion. Aelius twitched at the smell – flesh, cooking over the residual aeter heat. He knelt and lowered further still, in close observation of the former’s condition. It didn’t stop at the burning, almost melted flesh. Aelius traced across the clawed cuts and scratches, then to the open wound around the soldier’s abdominal area, torn, partially eaten, and now covered with a layer of what appeared to be maggots. He frowned at the lack of time.
“How much?” asked Aelius.
“Black Maggots,” said Magellan, shaking his head in disappointment. “They’re going to erode his corpse in about twenty minutes. Maybe sooner. I’ve never once seen them grow with such speed.”
“It’s all the dead bodies,” revealed Aelius. “The soil is soaked with blood and residual aeter; it’s the perfect breeding ground.”
With little hope for the Kula person’s survival, Magellan returned to his High Lord’s side. But another groan alerted both men to attention. Aelius leaned once again, closer, avoiding the maggots that had already reached the soldier’s mouth. The latter’s voice emerged as a garble, enough for half a word’s worth of information.
“Ob…ob…lit…”
Aelius straightened his knees without expression, not needing any more.
“That’s enough,” said the Godvildian High Lord. He turned to Magellan, and added, “Eradicate half of the maggots, cut off a limb, and use the blood to nourish the rest. Ensure that he lives through the pain for more than twenty minutes.”
“Yes, High Lord Bloodheart.”
