The blazing sun scorched the skin of the raiders as they rowed their ship as close to the shore as they dared. The captain of the vessel, Andros, had timed their arrival to coincide with the zenith of Helos’ journey across the sky. His crew had raided the mainland for ten seasons and had become used to the ways of the daima that plagued it.

It was well known to them that the god’s burning chariot hurt the eyes of the daima and drove them underground until it passed. The sun was no guarantee of protection, though. When the daima tore through their stores of food and grew tired of killing each other, they would ascend from their underground lairs and seek sustenance in the light above.

Andros peered into his spyglass and studied the shore beyond. He didn’t need the tool, his eyes were keen enough to observe the coast without assistance, but it was a necessary fiction for the sake of his men. It was sometimes better for the god-touched to appear less capable than they actually were. Men like him walked the fine line between honor, and fear, always knowing mankind fought those they feared.

He pulled the glass away, collapsed it, and placed it in a pouch at his waist.

“The coast is clear, Kyros.” He told the coxswain beside him. “Guide the Harvest as close as you can.”

The young man visibly swelled with pride. “Of course, lokha.”

Andros knew why the young cox was so enthused. While Kyros had sailed Okeanos’ domain for several years, this was his first outing with the Bountiful Harvest. Over the years, the ship and its captain had become a celebrity on Aetolos. Part of his renown originated from his god-touched origins while the rest had come from his own hard-earned success. Even King Anaximenes had thought him worthy enough to grant him the family name Aeton. With that, he had become minor nobility overnight.

Of course, neither Andros nor the King were disillusioned with the real reason for his elevated status. History had demonstrated time and again that the god-touched were destined for great things. In the past, they had been king-makers and king-killers. Many of them had become both and Aximenes wanted Andros close at hand should either manifest into reality.

He’ll probably try and get me to settle down after this raid.

Andros sighed at his maudlin thoughts. He knew he needed to focus or he would find himself dead at the hands of the daima. It would be an inelegant end to a promising legend.

He turned to look at his crew. Two dozen men pulled the oars in sequence while Kyros beat a small hide-wrapped drum to keep them in time. Four others stood at the raised platform on the aft of the vessel. They each had arrows knocked on wooden bows. They wouldn’t pull them taut until they caught sight of paradaima swooping in for the kill.

It was a necessary precaution even if there were no high cliffs on the coast for the paradaima to sweep down from. Typically, the unnatural flesh between their arms and backs only gave them the ability to glide down on their prey from above. In practice, Andros had been attacked more than once in ways he hadn’t expected. It was his standing order for the archers to be ready when they were this close to shore.

Satisfied that the crew was as prepared as they could be, he turned back to the fore of the ship and took in the scenery. This time of the year, the waters around the mainland were crystal clear. When Andros looked down, he could see clearly for the first hundred meters. Small bright-colored fish swam around like darting fireflies and living coral painted the seabed like a mural for the gods above. He wondered what it would be like to live like one of those fish. They were at peace below the waves while only horror and pain lived above them.

He shifted his gaze forward to search jagged teeth of rock and star metal. The protrusions could pierce his hull and leave them compromised on the shores of East Anhelus. Their presence was from a remnant from a time long forgotten. It was a time when humanity prospered on Hod—a time before the plague of daima destroyed much of civilization and reduced them to scavengers from the coast.

Seeing nothing that would endanger his ship, he looked at their target itself. It was a coastal city of crumbling stone and rotten thatch. It hunched like a mutilated, broken thing on the coast. He couldn’t help but imagine the aged pillars and collapsed structures as the fangs of an ancient maw inviting them in.

Had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have stepped foot in the city at all. Andros had only visited this part of the country at the behest of his king. For that reason, he had made it his final stop. There would be no valuable materials or wretched survivors to spirit back to Aetolos. This was purely a vanity endeavor. It was a promise made by the king to his Anhelesian wife.

They hoped that Andros might discover remnants of her people to bring back. Barring that, they wanted information on the kingdom in the hopes that they may organize a campaign to free it from the clutches of the daima. Andros knew there would be no such campaign. He was merely here to confirm the death of the kingdom’s capital, Petria, and salvage what could be salvaged. He knew that all he would find was death and rot. It was all he had ever found on the mainland.

He took a deep breath. The clean scent of the sea breeze blew away the rotting and sickly sweet smell of decay before it reached Andros’ nostrils. No matter how the breeze hid the stench, Andros knew it would be rife through the broken and winding cobblestone paths of Petria.

When he judged the ship had ventured close enough, he raised a fist into the air. At his sign, Kyros called for the oars to stop, and they started to foist the anchor overboard. Andros heard the rattling of the chain as the anchor descended to the depths below and wondered what the fish would think as their realm was so forcibly invaded.

He turned to his crew as they left their posts and gathered around him. He took a moment to stare at their faces. He spotted Heros with a ragged scar running from his scalp to jawline. He had earned that scar three raids ago when he came across a siradaima. The tunneler had burst from the ground and caught Heros with its ragged claws before Andros had slain it with his sword. The man met his eyes and nodded once.

Heros had been one of the longest-serving members of his crew. Too many good men had died on the raids and Andros had mourned every loss. It was something of an irony to him. As a man who was god-touched, he had the best chance of surviving the trials that the gods set in his path. Unfortunately, the brave warriors who followed him had none of the same protections. One day, even Heros would die and Andros would be given a fresh face to replace the peerless raider. On and on it would go until Andros stopped raiding or when Iapetus declared that his halls were full of the honored dead.

Andros put away the thoughts. His crew didn’t need to know how likely their deaths were. They followed him for the wealth and the prestige that accompanied a raid on the Bountiful Harvest.

“You’ve done well, warriors. Even mighty Atlas would be impressed by the struggles you’ve faced since leaving home.”

His crew cheered and banged their fists against their chests in a hypnotic rhythm. Andros let them continue for almost a minute before waving his hands for silence. He knew it was important to give them this moment. They needed to feel invincible. They needed to feel as if the very gods were on their side. Anything less and they would fall to the daima’s superior speed and strength.

“We have one left mission to complete before we go home.” He used a hand to gesture to the city behind him.

“In front of us, Petria lies broken and discarded. The daima have toppled her towers and slaughtered her people. Our King weeps at the thought of his extended family so violated.”

There was an expected hush from the group as they hung on their leader’s every word.

“We’re going to sail into Petria and find news of the Queen’s kin. We’ll save who we can save and smite any daima that stand in our way!”

The crew roared their approval and Andros smiled at their enthusiasm. He used his hands to calm them.

“Be forewarned brave men of Aetolos. We’re walking straight into the enemy’s lair. You must be brave, you must be strong, and you must be quick if you wish to make it out alive. I will do what I can to return you from your families. All I ask is that you do the same.”

Instead of cheering, his crew exchanged determined looks and Andros was pleased to see their enduring spirit. It would be the only thing that got them through what happened next.

“Good, throw out the skiffs. I want to be back on the ship before Helos’ chariot crosses the horizon.”

At his orders, the crew split up. They gathered their weapons, donned their leather armor, and prepared the skiffs for travel. Andros prepared himself for the journey as well. Andros crossed the length of the ship until he came across the small chest that held his equipment. He donned the molded leather breastplate that fell loosely over his gray tunic and secured the matching brown leather bracers that protected his forearms. He reached into the bottom of the chest and retrieved his iron helmet and placed it upon his head. The T-shaped visor, protected the majority of his face while leaving his vision free from obstructions. Due to his rank, he was afforded the blue horsehair crest that usually adorned such a helmet, but he eschewed it while out on a raid.

It was good for ceremonial purposes but it wasn’t functional. Andros didn’t believe in using anything that didn’t have a dedicated purpose. When fighting the daima, all one could rely on was the soundness of their equipment, the strength of their arm, and the purity of their determination.

Instead of the typical shield and spear that most of his crew used, Andros focused on maximum lethality. Any wounds that daima inflicted upon him would heal rapidly due to his blessings from the gods so it was more economical for him to use the two short swords he strapped to his waist.

When the swords were secured, he strapped a short bow in its oiled leather case to his back. A quiver of wickedly barbed arrows followed the bow. He wouldn’t be able to use the bow in the close confines of the city, but it was necessary to carry a bow to ward against the gliding paradaima that haunted the mainland.

With a final flourish, he stowed two daggers, one in each boot, to their respective scabbards. When he had finished he stood up and supervised the final motions of his crew. Those that were already fully equipped were lowering the small skiffs to the ocean. Meanwhile, the four who would remain aboard were assisting where they could. Satisfied with their progress, Andros made his way to the forward set of skiffs and picked one at random. He clambered inside with five other men as it descended toward the waves. Four of his group grabbed the oars as soon as the skiff was released from its binds while Andros and another watched for any threats.

Soon enough, the diminutive vessel was scything its way toward the shore and Andros felt the familiar tingle in his body as it prepared itself for battle. Andros was always the first to step ashore, and at some level, his body knew it. His senses would sharpen, his heart would start beating faster, and his mind would start to work overtime as it rapidly calculated the range and speed necessary to deliver a killing blow. It was for this reason his men respected him. He was always the first into battle and he made sure to place himself in the middle of the worst situations. They looked at him in awe, but it was a simple matter for Andros. The gods had sought fit to bless him with their talents and so he had a responsibility to protect those that were less fortunate.

Andros guided their boat away from the ruined docks that served Petria in more prosperous times. Fallen timber and shattered stone could damage their ship going in, but more importantly, it could impede their escape. Instead, he guided them to the shore where the city's walls used to stand. Now, there was a relatively clear patch of land that would allow his whole crew to make landfall.

When the boat ground against the soft sand, he leaped from his perch and splashed through the shallow water. Spotting no immediate danger, he left his swords sheathed and looked back to check on the progress of the other ships. They wandered in like sheep returning to the flock and soon all of the boats had joined Andros’ own. When the ships disgorged their contents onto the mainland, he did a quick headcount to ensure that all two dozen raiders had made it ashore.

“Okay,” he started when all had gathered. “We’re splitting up by boats. Decide on your raid leaders when I’m done here.”

When he got confirmation, he continued. “2nd boat, your job is to check out every stable and livestock pen in the city. I doubt you’ll find anything but a couple more cows and a few more ships would be a welcome addition to Aetolos. 3rd boat, your job is to check the smithies. Gather up any weapons you find. Once done with that, you’ll grab any stocks of materials that may be on hand. Prioritize the rarer metals first and get enough to fill your boar. 4th boat, I want you to check and guild headquarters and houses of learning. Bring back anything that has words written on it. We’ve lost much of our knowledge since the daima appeared in our nation. Each book is more precious than all of the gold or livestock that your fellow raiders bring back so treat them accordingly.”

He looked around and made sure that each boat understood their orders. “As for my group, we’ll be going straight to the keep. That’s likely where the daima hole up during the day so I expect it’s where the fighting will be the fiercest. Our goal will be to confirm the deaths of the royal family. If we can’t get that, then we’ll try and look for clues as to their whereabouts.”

He noticed the admiring glances that the other men gave to the occupants that would be unlucky enough to follow Andros into the keep. He decided to let them think it was an honorable task. In reality, it was likely that Andros’ boat would lose the most men. It wouldn’t be the first time that he was the only survivor on a raid that went awry.

“Any questions?” He asked.

Seeing none, he nodded and drew his sword. He pointed the tip at the city ahead. “Alright then, move out and stay together.”

Then men consulted among themselves and selected their raid leaders. The position usually fell to the most senior man on the boat. It wasn’t quite as clear in Andros’ crew. While the experience was important, it was more vital to select the individual who had been on the most raids under Andros himself. To them, living long enough to go on multiple raids was a sign of experience that couldn’t be trumped by mere age.

When everyone had been selected, they left their boats behind. They trotted at a pace that would eat up the distance but wouldn’t tire them when they arrived at their destination. They quickly passed the remains of a gatehouse and then they separated into their teams. They spread out according to their various goals, but Andros' group remained on the central boulevard and headed toward the keep.

Andros could already see the keep from where it peeked out over dilapidated residences and business of Petria. Although the keep had been well constructed in its time, it had fallen into the same disrepair as the rest of the city. It was a depressing byproduct of the daima occupation. The warped and twisted facsimiles of human beings weren’t intelligent enough to intentionally destroy the structures, they just neglected them. When humanity perished, Gaia came quickly to retake her domain.

Petria had been a large city during its time, so it took another hour of jogging before they finally reached the front gate of the keep. It’s rusted iron gate had been bent and thrown aside as if one of the gods had ripped it from its moorings.

Andros crept inside while straining his senses for any sight, sound, or smell that might betray the presence of daima. All he saw was the same crumbling architecture that he witnessed all over the city. There wasn’t any sound except for the scrabbling of rats and the cawing of winged scavengers floating above the fortress. The leader’s nose only detected the stench of old blood and rotting meat. By itself, it wasn’t an indication of daima, but it was enough to put him on guard.

Luckily, the front of the keep was a series of elevated switchbacks with little room for collapsed buildings or other hiding places from which the daima could launch an ambush. The only issue was that the top of the next switchback was more than twice the height of a normal man. Andros had only seen three such fortifications, but paradaima could launch themselves from any of them and catch the warriors unaware.

Andros turned to look at the raiders that had followed him into the keep. He pointed to his eyes with two fingers and then pointed them at the crown of the nearest switchback. His men returned nods and the last two of the group stowed their short swords and drew their bows. They knocked an arrow on the string and then indicated that they were ready.

With another hand signal, the group ventured further into the fortification.

Andros’ group of warriors made it through the winding switchbacks until they reached the top of the fortification. Once there, their leader looked out over the path that they’d just traversed and considered their journey.

In some ways, they had been lucky. There had been no daima to harass or ambush them. It was unusual in a city of this size. Even if the daima had killed each other, there should’ve been some sign of their presence. Typically, rotting corpses and forgotten valuables were strewn out haphazardly.

If Andros didn’t remember every part of the coast he’d visited with perfect clarity, he’d think Petria was a prior raid. The parts of the fortifications they had seen thus far, had been swept clean. They had found no weapons leaning against the walls of the armories. There had been no bloated corpses choking on their pestilence like overripe fruit. There had been nothing to distinguish this fortress from a dozen similar archaeological sites on the mainland. It didn’t fit with Andros’ perception of the world.

The leader looked away from the switchbacks and looked over his warriors. They were fidgeting and nervous. Andros saw the whites of their eyes as their glance darted toward each small sound. Andros knew they felt the same things he did. They might not have the same advanced senses that his nature gave him, but they could sense the unnatural air about the keep.

Andros knew the best way to allay the fear of his men was to address them directly.

“There’s something wrong here”

His muted voice sounded loud in the empty and lifeless air. It startled his men before they exchanged sheepish glances and moved closer to their leader.

“We all feel it, so there’s no use denying it.” Andros continued. “I expect there to be trouble, so we’re going to stay together for now.”

The warrior pointed at the largest temple in the keep. In another age, it would’ve been magnificent. Proud columns ringed the entire structure but many of them were cracked or fallen. The intricately carved frescoes that adorned every surface were chipped and broken. Their stories of heroes and gods were soon to be forgotten. Even the red roof tiles, now the color of old blood had fallen or been shattered. It was a symbol of the current age and it was where they needed to go.

“We’ll head to the main temple first. Prepare for daima, they’re sure to be waiting for us there.”

Andros noted that his men looked a little more confident, as he led the way toward the massive temple. As he neared the steps that led into the structure, he heard the chittering and groaning sounds that marked the daima. Instead of feeling fear, he was reassured. The sounds of the daima were a familiar song. It was a tune that hardened his heart and burned through his blood. It encouraged the dance of blades and the particular brand of justice that only a sword could deliver.

He made a gesture with his sword, and two raiders came up on either side. They gripped the ornate handles of the gigantic brass doors. Behind him, Andros could hear his two archers, readying their bows and pointing it at the doors. His last warrior readied his blade just as Andros had done.

At his signal, the two men on the doors heaved against their bulk. Instead of the grinding sound of metal on stone that Andros expected to hear, the doors softly creaked open on oiled hinges. When the doors opened completely, Andros was appalled at what lay within. Luckily his surprise didn’t stop the archers behind him. He heard the all-too-familiar twang of an arrow in flight as they plunged into the nearest set of daima.

The leader realized that his archers needn’t have bothered. The two daima had been secured to large pillars by spiked collars. The chain securing them to the structure had not been long enough to reach the door. Andros had guessed that he could walk through the center of the room and be untouched by the daima that were fasted on either side of the temple supports.

The daima themselves were hideous pitiful things. On the surface, they could be mistaken for human beings. It was only a cursory glance that would let them get away with that deception. They were completely hairless with spindly angular bodies. Their skin was stretched taut over thin bones and corded muscle. It had the same white-yellow hue of garden grubs. Their eyes were pools of inky darkness with no visible sclera or pupils and every pair of eyes was centered on Andros.

The daima snarled and gnashed their mismatched teeth. They reached toward him with broken and black fingernails while their mouths chittered uncontrollably. Andros knew they had once been men and women. In fact, it was likely that most of the daima in this room had once been citizens of Petria. The corruption that had taken their minds and twisted their bodies into something subhuman.

Andros swung his swords in lazy arcs as he walked among the monsters. “Kill them,” he ordered his crew.

Following his orders, the leaders used a sword to relieve one of the daima from a stretching limb. His follow up strike cleaved through the skull of the daima and bisected its brain. Strikes to the head were the most effective way of putting down a daima. The monsters could take inhuman levels of punishment before they finally died from blood loss. Until their brains were struck, they were still dangerous enemies.

There were twenty-four supporting columns in the darkened temples. Sun peeked in through square windows high on the walls. It was by the light of Hyperion that Andros slew enemy after enemy. When he had reached the halfway point someone shouted at him from the back of the temple.

“STOP!”

The voice reverberated around the temple and caused the daima to frenetically pull against their bonds. Andros turned toward the voice and flicked the blood off of his blades. From behind the remains of a crumbled throne, a towering man garbed in metal armor came striding toward Andros. Instead of carrying two short swords like the raider, he had one huge sword strapped on his back. His uncovered face betrayed a black rage.

The leader looked over his shoulder and addressed the other raiders. “Finish of the daima, I’ll deal with this.”

Orders given, he strode toward the other man until they were a few paces from each other.

“I told you to fucking stop,” he shouted addressing the raiders that were still dispatching monsters.

The man went to pass Andros, but the god-touched warrior rose a sword and pressed it against the chest of the bear-like man. The action forced the other man to stop and he looked down at the sword and snarled.

“Little man, I will tear your head from your body and feed it to my pet daima. After that, I’ll take your body, cook it, and feed it to my whores.”

Andros just smirked at the other man. It was clear to the raider that this was just another crackpot despot who took advantage of the state of the world to build their fiefdoms. Unfortunately for the man, he had revealed that he had prisoners and Andros was very interested in finding and freeing them.

The raider spun smoothly and used his extended blade to slice across the other man’s throat in a single slash. It ripped through both arteries in his enemy’s neck and a fountain of blood splattered across the dirty stone tiles. Andros watched satisfied as the man fell to his knees with his hands pressed against his throat. Crimson blood still trickled through the man’s fingers in rivulets.

Andros turned from the dying man to check on his raiders. All of the daima had been killed and the men were congregating together for their next orders. One of them looked up and his face turned white. He pointed in Andros' direction and shouted. “Lokha, look o—“

A mass smashed into the back of Andros’ head and he spawned to the ground. His helmet protected him from most of the damage, but it didn’t prevent the dizziness caused by cracking his head against the stone floor. The captain heard the sound of a blade being released from a scabbard and he rolled instinctively to save himself.

A sword crashed down on the space that Andros had previously occupied. Its impact on the tiled floor caused bright sparks to illuminate the darkened structure. Seeing the impact, Andros continued his roll, and shakily rose to his feet. He had dropped both of his swords when he had fallen and now his hands were empty.

Instead of capitalizing on the situation, the brutish enemy laughed. “You thought you could kill me, little man? I’m god-touched. There’s nothing you can do to me.”

Andros frowned at the new information. It was the first time he had met another one of his kind. He wasn’t impressed with what he found. Instead of answering the man, he looked behind him. One of his crew tossed a sword in his direction and Andros caught it by the hilt. He deftly swung the blade in a low sweep to get a feel for its weight and balance before settling into a guard position with his blade.

The hulking man grinned evilly at the display. “I don’t need fancy sword skills to defeat your warrior. The gods have given me gifts that you can’t imagine. You can hack at me all day and it will do nothing. I just have to hit you once with my sword and you’re dead.”

Andros' enemy was true to his own words as he charged. He sliced downward with his sword and the strength behind the blow was so immense, that Andros could feel the wind behind the strike. Instead of creating space, Andros allowed the giant to get close. When the sword descended, he turned sideways and dodged the blade completely while circling his opponent. With a clean swipe, he sliced the tendon in the back of the man's knee before returning to his guard stance.

The giant bellowed at the pain but otherwise didn’t stop moving. To be fair, Andros hadn’t expected the man to. The other god-touched man would be able to heal any damage in a matter of time. It wasn’t the raider’s goal to wound the giant, it was to kill him.

The brute started swinging his sword wildly at Andros, but the raider darted around his strikes like water. Each time he dodged a strike, he left a small wound on the giant as a mark of his passage. After. Few rounds, the giant became truly enraged. He started swinging his gargantuan blade more wildly and more rapidly. Each time Andros dodged, the more unhinged the other man became. Finally, the other man used both hands to bring his sword down in an overhead chop. Like every other attack, Andros dodged it easily. In the process, the brute had overextended himself and Andros was finally able to make his move.

In a repeat of his very first maneuver, Andros swung his sword in a parallel swing and it sliced through the man’s neck once again. The blade was so sharp, and the swing so controlled that it passed through flesh and bone without marking its passage. The only proof that Andros had made a strike at all, was a thin red line that crossed the brute’s flesh.

Andros crouched to drive power into his legs and then he leaped into the air. With an acrobatic motion, he extended a leg and planted a booted kick into the giant’s head. It tumbled off of the huge man’s shoulders and rolled across the ground. As the head rolled, it came to a stop with dead eyes glaring at the city.

“Heal from that,” Andros spat.

His men started cheering at the display and Andros accepted the pats on the shoulder and the congratulations with good grace. When he handed the sword back to its owner, he addressed them.

“Now we know why daima aren’t active in the area. They had a god-touched to keep them at bay.” Andros jerked a thumb at the cooling carcass of his opponent.

“The ugly brute mentioned prisoners, split up, and find them. He probably had treasure and materials too, so let’s find them.”

Andros heard a chorus of “aye lokha” before his crew headed out to find the survivors.

The warrior remained behind in the temple and studied the body of his opponent. He couldn’t help but feel a measure of loss for his opponent. It was the only other person like himself and he had to dispatch the man like a rabid dog.

With a last look at the corpse, he gathered up his equipment and exited the temple.