Here's Chapter 8! Little longer than usual, enjoy! ^^

Chapter 8: Provocation

-----

The man’s mind raced as he stared back at his awakened target. Had his senses failed him? He was sure the boy had been sound asleep before.

“No matter, I’m a professional. This is nothing,” he thought to himself, trying to calm down and reaffirm his skills.

Resisting the urge to shout out in frustration, he rushed forward and knocked the boy out with the hilt of his dagger.

-----

Draygor cursed himself for being careless. He hadn’t expected the High Priestess’ vision to come true this early. He had sensed the intruder as soon as he had entered the window. If Draygor had been more careful, he would have set a few traps beforehand. He was definitely no match for the intruder at his current strength level.

“Surely you could have given an earlier warning, eh Mhi’ra?” Draygor thought, just as he was knocked senseless, his vision fading to black.

-----

“This is the ‘one in white’?” the Axe asked in disbelief. “A mere five year old boy?! Surely your man has made a mistake, Eye.”

“Definitely not!” retorted the Eye, his voice cold with rage. “He is my best, and any insult to him will be one to me. Watch what you say, or I will cut off your tongue and feed it to you.”

Both of them glared at each other in hostility, ready to go at each other’s throats.

BAM!

“ENOUGH! I have had enough with your mindless squabbling. Internal conflicts will not help our cause, and if you two act up again I will remove you and replace you with more capable men. Do not think you’re indispensable,” the Shield roared, slamming his fist down onto the table, causing it to break into splinters.

“Now, what do you think, Mouth? Is the child the one we seek?” he continued, turning his attention to the figure beside him.

“It seems likely, if the report from the Eye’s man is to be believed,” the Mouth replied with a nod, earning her a glare from the Eye as well.

She ignored the gaze of her scrawny colleague as she continued. “No simple person could cause the High Priestess to lose her composure so easily. Furthermore, observe the white scale on his head.”

The Mouth paused for a second, allowing her colleagues to shift their attention to the still unconscious boy.

“None of our kind has ever had white scales, with the exception of Her, whom I shall not name. I am sure he is the one our god referred to.”

“If it is as you say, then I have no argument,” the Axe grunted, finally convinced. “What do we do now? Surely a mere kid is no threat to us, although he seems to have gotten the unfortunate attention of He Who Takes Life.”

The four were silent for a moment as they pondered what to do.

“Perhaps we should return him to his family?” the Mouth suggested.

“Oh? Interesting suggestion, Mouth. Perhaps you have grown weak, to show compassion for a nobody like him,” the Eye sneered, his nasally voice dripping with sarcasm.

“How dare you – ”

The Mouth was about to berate him for his accusations, her figure visibly shaking with anger, before she was interrupted by the Shield.

“SILENCE, YOU IMBECILES!” he roared again, glaring at the others gathered around the now-ruined table. “No, we will not return him. Too much time has passed, and his family will have surely realised his disappearance by now. We will offer him up as a sacrifice instead.”

The Axe laughed evilly at the suggestion, nodding his head in approval. “Hah! What better way to offer praise to He Who Takes Life while getting rid of any loose ends? As expected of you, Shield!”

“Any objections? No? Good. Then gather the men in the ritual chamber at first light tomorrow. We will make this a grand sacrifice, fit for our god.”

-----

“Draygor! It’s time to get up for breakfast!” Garick shouted up the stairs.

Receiving no reply, he ascended the stairs to the second story of the house and began knocking on the door to Draygor’s room.

“Come on, sleepyhead, it’s already morning!” he called out, receiving no response again.

With a sigh, he grabbed the doorknob and began pushing over the door, to find an empty room.

“Hmm? Did Draygor get up already?” he thought quizzically.

Suddenly, he spotted something that made his blood run cold. There was blood on the pillow! Garick ran out of the room with a panicked expression and began to search the house frantically.

“Draygor! Where are you?” he called out again, his voice fraught with worry. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny!”

Finding no trace of his son in the house, Garick ran out of the house to search for him; perhaps he had gone to play with Dhi’na. As he continued his search, he bumped into the temple knight who had been standing guard outside. He didn’t know why she was there – since it was a secret that she was on guard – but was too frantic to discuss the minor details. She too, however, had seen no sign of Draygor, and was shocked that the boy had gone missing under her guard.

“I’ll send word to the High Priestess, and I’ll keep an eye out for him. You should stay home in case he returns,” the guard instructed Garick before running off to the temple to deliver the news.

-----

Draygor awoke in a small, dark cell, his head ringing in pain from the man’s sudden attack. He winced as he touched his hand to his temple, causing flakes of dried blood to fall off from the wound. He tried to stand, but fell immediately, still dizzy from the concussion. Something wet dripped onto his hands; the wound on his head had started bleeding again, and he groaned aloud at the realisation.

His groan echoed out, the sound bouncing off the walls, and a voice echoed back in return. “Ah, the sacrifice is awake, I see.”

The voice was nasal, and belonged to a small, scrawny figure which Draygor could hardly make out due to the lack of light. The keys to the cell jangled with each step the figure took, causing the pain in Draygor’s head to get worse.

“Do not despair, boy; rejoice instead for the honour of being offered up to He Who Takes Lives. No one will be coming to save you, so I suggest that you spend the last hours of your life praying that the end will be quick and painless,” the figure spat out, before turning to walk away from the cell door.

“Sacrifice?” Draygor mumbled weakly. He understood what was going to happen to him, but for now, it took all his strength to infuse his finger with mana and draw a strange looking diagram onto his abdomen, before he fell back into unconsciousness.

-----

Deep sombre chanting woke Draygor up again. It was familiar to him. He’d heard the chants many years back, when the Rift had been torn open in the heart of Elysium. Groaning, he attempted to sit up, and found that his hands and legs had been bound. He was laid on a stone altar, and a masked female stood beside it, holding a ceremonial dagger with the sharp end of the blade pointed down toward him.

“Fellow brethren!” she shouted, and the chanting stopped as all eyes turned to look at her.

“We are gathered here today to offer a sacrifice to our god! May He Who Takes Lives find it worthy, and may he bless us, for we are his chosen!”

The crowd of nearly a thousand cultists was whipped into a frenzy at her words, calling out for the spilling of blood to please their god. They had all been summoned back to their hideout for the sacrificial ritual, and were eager to witness an offering to the one they worshipped.

“Death!” the female yelled, and it was echoed by everyone else as she plunged the dagger deep into Draygor’s stomach.

However, no blood flowed from the wound. Instead, everyone watched in silence and shock as the ropes binding the boy burst into flames, turning the restraints into ashes. With a groan, the boy sat up, the dagger still protruding from his midriff.

“That hurt, you know?”

The diagram that Draygor had drawn on himself was a spell called the Last Breath. Its study and usage had been strictly forbidden by the Ely, though he’d managed to get his hands on a tome which had detailed instructions on many different forbidden spells. It allowed its user to replenish up to fifty percent of their full potential at the brink of death, with huge drawbacks setting in an hour after its activation. Users would be put into a coma for an indeterminate period of time, depending on their level of power. The coma wasn’t the problem though; any wounds sustained during its activation would continue bleeding again after it wore off, so most people who were desperate enough to use this skill usually died of their wounds after.

Draygor didn’t think too much about the consequences though. He’d think of a way to handle it when the time came. For now, he intended to wipe out everyone that was gathered here. The Cult of Shaitan had disturbed the peace in his previous life, and now they had interrupted his peaceful existence yet again.

“Don’t blame me for this. You bastards hit me first, and now it’s time for me to end the fight…” he mumbled, loud enough for the female who had stabbed him to hear.

With a deep breath, Draygor opened his mouth, and began singing a melodious, awe-inspiring ballad that echoed out around the chamber.

“Your home lies broken, fallen apart,

Trampled into the dust.

You scream at them, killers one and all,

Kill me if you must!

They laugh and stomp at your cry,

‘We’ll leave you to the last!’

You’re left to despair at the deaths of your kin,

But no! You won’t be aghast!

With flame and blade in hand, you shout,

‘Brothers! Don’t be downcast!

Rise! Rise up and fight,

For our people, we shall hold steadfast!’

Fight! For our freedom!

Fight! Hard and fast!

Banish those who invaded our lands,

So fight! Avenge our past!”

Everyone who heard the tune stood still, enchanted by his voice. Their minds were transported to the world of the ballad, and they felt the impact of every line. They gnashed their teeth at the first verse, and their hearts filled with hope at the second.

As the last line was sung, one of the cultists in the throng roared out, imagining himself as the hero of the tune, and struck out at his closest comrade with his axe, decapitating the poor sod. Then, the chaos began.

-----

The man had smiled maliciously when he saw the boy he had kidnapped on the stone altar, about to be offered up in sacrifice to He Who Takes Lives. He was glad that he had been of use to the Cult, and was eagerly waiting for blood to be spilt.

The Mouth of Shaitan, Prophet of He Who Takes Lives and one of the four leaders of the Cult, was standing behind the altar, and he had cheered at the top of his lungs when she plunged her dagger into the boy’s stomach.

But, there was no blood.

“What’s going on?” he managed to ask under his breath, before the first word of the melodious tune invaded his mind.

He saw a familiar scene. He was at home, and his parents were still alive. He witnessed the Ely invade their lands again, and he watched his parents die for a second time. It was hell all over again, except this time, he shed no tears. Instead, he only felt anger. He wanted revenge. There would be no more hiding – he would fight!

“So fight! Avenge our past!”

The last line rang out in his mind, and suddenly, he was pulled back to reality. Only, the people he saw around him were not his brothers and sisters of the Cult. They were Ely. His blood boiled as he laid eyes upon them, and only one thought came to mind.

Kill!

Unsheathing his dagger, he stabbed the closest one through the heart, and with practiced motions, slit the throat of another. He revelled in the slaughter as blood splattered onto him from all directions, and he laughed triumphantly, a satisfied smile on his face as he killed those who had taken everything from him.

The smile never left his face, even when he was cleft in twain by another rampaging cultist in the same stupor.

-----

The female known as The Mouth didn’t know what was going on. She, like some others, were cowering in a corner, watching in terror as their fellow cultists butchered one another. The Axe and the Eye had gone after each other’s throats as they heard the song, and the Shield had simply been mobbed by those surrounding him.

“Hm… seems the spell is flawed. Guess it doesn’t affect those who feel fear instead of rage from the trance,” Draygor mused as he watched the slaughter. Blood and gore was something he had gotten very used to in the past, and the scene didn’t really elicit any disgust or fear from him.

He sighed as he pulled the dagger from his abdomen. No blood flowed from the gaping wound, but neither did it close. The pain would come when the effect of the Last Breath ended, and he grimaced at the thought. Perhaps he would really die again this day, considering the size of hole in his body. Blood would certainly be lost in copious amounts.

Soon, the sounds of slaughter stopped, and the chamber was silent, save for the sobbing of a few poor souls who had been unaffected by the song. Blood dripped through the cracks in the ground, and severed body parts lay scattered all over. Most of the survivors would certainly go insane after having gone through such a horrifying experience, and Draygor pitied them just a little.

Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke up with a hint of amusement. “That was quite the show, strange one. It is always entertaining to watch your methods.”

Draygor turned to face the figure that had materialised at his side, while the Mouth had simply prostrated herself at the figure’s appearance, her body still shaking in terror from the bloodbath she had just witnessed.

“Why are you here, Shaitan? No – how are you here? You guys didn’t seem to be able to communicate with me over the past few years, and I’d like an explanation. In fact, while you’re at it, care to explain this situation as well?” Draygor asked, the annoyance palpable in his voice. He had long decided to be a little less informal with the gods after their previous conversation, since they were familiar with him, though he did not remember why.

“It wasn’t my doing, strange one. I even gave them a warning to leave you alone, though it seems they interpreted my words wrongly in their foolishness. We weren’t wrong to think that you’d be able to handle it easily. They deserve their deaths, and I hope you’ll forgive me for my oversight,” Shaitan stated, baring his teeth in a false smile, before continuing with his explanation.

“Us gods have our presences summoned whenever our authorities are invoked. For example, I am known as He Who Takes Life; thus, whenever there is death, I am there. Similarly, Axeli, the Warrior God, is there whenever there is conflict, and Mhi’ra, She Who Gives Life, is there when there is birth or conception, just to name a few. It is just that we only choose to show ourselves to those who are worthy, since it takes a lot of effort to materialise our forms. Do not expect us to reveal ourselves to you every time. Other than that, we can also send vague messages to our prophets in the form of dreams, though those aren’t as effective, as you’ve witnessed.”

“I see…” Draygor nodded his head in understanding. “Why the warning this time, though? You did say that you thought that I wasn’t in any real danger.”

“We just wanted you to be on your guard, strange one. It is not in your destiny to die so soon again,” Shaitan replied with a shrug, before gesturing to the wound on Draygor’s body. “I would like to have a longer conversation, but unfortunately, it seems that our time is up for now. We will meet again, strange one.”

Draygor opened his mouth to respond, but only horrifying screams of pain came, as the Last Breath began to end. His blood flowed freely from the wound, staining the stone altar red. Soon, he was unconscious as the pain overloaded his nervous system.

-----

Shaitan turned to the Mouth. She was his prophet, and it only seemed fitting that she was put up to task.

“He is your master now. You are to take him far away from these lands and tend to his wounds. You will be in his service till the day you die. Consider his life yours, for if he dies, so do you,” he commanded, pointing to Draygor as his powerful voice thundered in her ears.

“Y-your humble servant heeds your instructions, oh great one,” she stammered, shaking visibly at his instructions, as she dared to raise her head slightly to gaze on Shaitan’s glorious form before he left the mortal plane.

Tearing her gaze away as Shaitan faded away, she turned her head to look at her new master in awe. She wondered who he was, to be capable of such wanton slaughter, and to speak to a god like close friends. She cursed herself for having the audacity to inflict a wound upon such a magnificent person, and hoped he would be magnanimous.

Oh, right! The wound!

Her eyes widened in horror as she remembered that her new master was now bleeding out, and she immediately began bandaging Draygor hastily, before lifting his small form over her shoulders with utmost care, ready to embark on their journey.