REVILED

Warmth light bathed Garrod’s skin, and he turned onto his side to gaze at the woman next to him. The sunlight danced over her glistening ebony skin with the glow from her tattoos giving her an ethereal beauty. Her eyes shone like pure gold, and he treasured those eyes more than anything in the world. Her smile radiated warmth and love. It made his heart stop every time he saw it.

Garrod leaned over and kissed her neck, enjoying the sweet taste of her skin. She moaned in pleasure, holding his head as he slowly worked his way down to her chest. Her supple legs wrapped around him, and she lifted his head so she could kiss him deeply.

Please wake up sire.

A missive has come for you.

Garrod groaned as he opened his eyes. It was the only way to describe it as the sickly green necrotic energy gathered in his eye sockets which allowed him to see. The flesh had long since rotted away, leaving behind the stark white bones which reflected the ghostly blue light that illuminated the room. Every sensation he once had felt muted like he was in an endless dream, or rather, a nightmare.

It took him a moment to gather himself. He had fallen asleep on his throne again. In this hall, his ancestors glared down on him from their portraits that lined the walls, each bearing the golden sword of Touldan. A long line of heroes now ended with an avatar.

“Sire,”

His gaze fell to the two women standing in front of him. Thick velvet straps wrapped around their chest and shoulders that connected to their long skirts. Their vygaern features hidden behind the necrotic mutations. Thick curled horns protruded from their temples, with a thin horn pocking out from their forehead. The grey horns mixed well with their ebony black hair. Their nails looked more like claws, and the dark red paint looked like blood. Their legs no longer looked human below the knees, instead they were replaced with the cloven feet of a goat, and although he couldn’t see, he knew they had short fluffy tails on their backside. However, that didn’t stop him from loving them, even if their new appearance made him feel guilty.

“Were you dreaming of sister again?” the one on the right said with a sad smile.

“Yes Nieva,” Garrod said gesturing for the two to approach. The women gently slid onto his lap, and he laid his hands on their slightly distended bellies.

“A message came from brother,” the other said holding up a letter.

“Please read it, Yaera,”

Sire,

I have broken through four of the ten walls that protect Fortress Delmiere. However, I must report that the dirgahn were killed after breaching the second. As of right now, the defenders have reinforced the fifth wall with stone which is hampering our progress, but I’m certain that I should be able to break through it by the time this letter arrives.

I’m pleased to report that one of the Sacred Weapons has a wielder. The Sword of Touldan, as you expected, has chosen a wielder, and it is none other than your former squire, Solomon Wise. He’s still as straight-laced now as he was back then, and thanks to your foresight, he won’t be able to use his Sacred Weapon, for now. I shall report again once I’ve reached the fortress.

You faithful servant,

Benharren Twin-axe,

P.S. It seems that your penchant for vygaern women has rubbed off on your former student. His lover’s beauty rivals that of sweet Almare.

Garrod’s laugh echoed through the hall, “Solomon’s the hero of Touldan,” genuine mirth filled his voice, “So he’s finally on the path he desires. Hopefully it won’t destroy him.”

“What is brother talking about” Nieva pouted grabbing the letter, “There is no one more beautiful than Almare.”

“But Benharren wouldn’t lie,” Yaera said looking nervously.

“Will you three take this seriously,” A deep growled echoed through the hall.

From the shadows a tall imposing figure appeared. His skin was pale blue like a corpse, but he had a thick beard with bones braided in it. Scars ran along his exposed arms and chest, which made him look imposing with his iron plated leather skirt and studded gauntlets. His horned black helmet hid the upper half of his face, but it didn’t hide the malice coming from his eyes.

“A hero has appeared,” Bellidrex snapped, “You should be preparing for battle, instead of bedding your whores.”

Garrod shifted signaling the women to get off, and he approached the hulking Dead God, “I will not stand for you insulting my concubines, understand,”

“What will you do?” Bellidrex cackled holding up his hand. The necrotic mana pooled in Garrod’s chest started flowing into the Dead God’s hand, “I could kill you here, and then what would you do?”

Garrod lifted his own hand and summoned the Treaties, “You’ll be without an avatar,” Garrod chuckled.

“And should his majesty perish,” Nieva glared at the god.

“There is no reason to go to war with the Church,” Yaera replied with the same hatred.

“You see Bellidrex,” Garrod said, “I’m the only one here capable of being your avatar. Your desire for constant war makes you predictable, and that is why you’re considered the least dangerous of the Dead Gods.”

Bellidrex let the mana in his hand dissipate, “I thought corrupting a hero’s bloodline would be a great accomplishment. I wasn’t expecting to bite me in the ass,” he slowly vanished into the mist, “Do something about the hero.”

Garrod sighed, “He’s right. Cieban, I need you.” Ghostly blue flames erupted in front of him, and it took on the form of a man in a tailored suit appeared.

Cieban bowed, “How may I be of service, your majesty?”

“Prepare my armor and dirgahn. I need to visit my former pupil.”

“Of course, Sire,” Cieban smiled sadly and disappeared.

Garrod moved through the halls of his castle with his concubines following quietly behind him. As he walked through the halls, his servants, each corrupted by the necrotic mana from the Treaties, bowed to him. Each one willingly accepted to sacrifice their humanity to serve his selfishness, and for that he was grateful. Many of the servants were a form of undead. A skeleton, zombie, or specter like Cieban while others were like Nieva and Yaera, not undead but neither human. Of course, not all were undead.

“W-where are you going, sire?” a young vygaern boy stood off to the side trying to put on a brave face. He wore a simple buttoned coat and carried a short sword at his side.

“I need to go check on something your father mentioned,” Garrod petted the boys head, “I need you to take care of your aunts while I’m away. Can you do that Obaden?”

Obaden bowed shakily, “I won’t let you down sire!”

“Good man, your father would be proud,” The boy beamed at the compliment as he saluted Garrod. They continued down the hall until Obaden was beyond hearing, “That boy does not deserve this kind of life.” Garrod said, thankful that his skeletal face couldn’t betray his emotions.

“True,” Nieva smiled sadly, “But he wouldn’t be living this life if it wasn’t for the Church.”

Garrod stopped, “This isn’t the Church’s doing,” he said gently, “I chose to open the necronomicon, and I’m the one who chose to become an avatar,” he reached out and gently touched their faces, his thumbs rubbing against their horns, “Please don’t burden others with my sins.”

“But it is their fault!” Yaera cried holding his hand, “If they had just cured the plague like they said they would then Almare…”

“True, and that is why I’m going to destroy the Church,” Garrod growled, “They no longer embody the Virtues they claim to serve, instead they care only about themselves. Hopefully, a better church will rise when this war is over.” Both women looked sad as he pulled away.

Garrod entered a large circular room. Cieban stood there waiting for them, and when Garrod stopped in the center of the room, he snapped his fingers. The armor levitated from the tables and flew over to Garrod. The straps undid themselves and the armor gently slid into place and redid the straps. Each piece secured itself, and Garrod stood there in full plate mail. Slowly, he approached the back of the room.

A crystal coffin sat on a marble table. The light from the moon glistened off the stone and bathed the occupant in ivory light. Almare laid there peacefully, untouched by decay around her thanks to the purifying properties of her coffin. If it wasn’t for the stark white lines that used to be her magic tattoos, some may have confused her for sleeping.

Garrod laid a hand on the coffin, “Why do you keep pining for her,” Bellidrex’s voice echoed through the room, “She could be by your side again if you let me have her.”

“Touch her Bellidrex, and I’ll see to it your book never comes back,” Garrod snapped which caused the god to chuckle. “I’ll be back, my love.” He whispered.

With a longing look, Garrod turned around and stepped out of the room. His armor clanked as he strode through the halls to the large courtyard. In the center five large dirgahn sat waiting. Unlike the Somarie variant, these dirgahn had thin serpentine bodies with large leathery wings. They laid on their stomachs so that the servants could secure the saddles around the base of their necks. A sail ran along their spiny back to the tip of the tail which had two other leathery sails running along the sides. The dirgahn cawed at each other trying to establish dominance but quieted as Garrod approached.

“The wyrmen dirgahn are ready sire,” Cieban appeared at Garrod’s side.

Garrod nodded as he mounted the giant lizard, “I should be back in a few months,” he said looking down at his servants, “Take care of things while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” Cieban bowed.

“Sire,” Nieva looked up to him nervously.

“Be safe,” Yaera continued for her sister.

“Of course,” Garrod said warmly, “I have two reason to return.”

The women smiled touching their bellies. Garrod steered his dirgahn towards the gate and snapped his feet against its hide. The monster roared, jumped, and took to the skies with the powerful flaps of its wings. The four other dirgahn followed, each mounted by a powerful lich knight.

As the dirgahn slowly disappeared into the night sky, Nieva and Yaera grasped each other’s hand. Their other hands never left their abdomens.

“Should we have let him leave,” Yaera whispered to her sister, “If he were to perish…”

“That’s enough,” Nieva said calmly, “We promised Almare that we would do what she couldn’t,” a tear ran down her cheek, “We will stand by his side until the day he perishes, and we will make sure that his majesty’s linage won’t end here.” Yaera nodded in understanding.

Warm blankets suddenly wrapped around their shoulders, “Come your highnesses,” Cieban gestured to the castle, “I’ve prepared a warm bath for the two of you. Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean you two can’t catch a cold.”

“Thank you Cieban.”

“It is my duty to care for his majesty, and his family,” Cieban smiled sadly, “Besides, I know how painful it is to pass from a disease.” The woman nodded with a frown as they followed the head butler back inside.