Chương 102: By the Grace of Might

Gustavius the Lion stared out the massive window overlooking the battlefield from high above. The sweet scent of burning incense lingered in the lavish study, and by his feet two lions lay, lazily swiping their tails. The felines were imposing creatures, but next to the giant man, they looked like nothing but a pair of particularly large house cats. Gustavius tucked the blue and gold robe tight around his muscular body, eyes turning to the look behind him as a man entered with echoing steps.

General Frederic of Many Oaths, the master of the Blessed penal battalion, entered with a frown on his face.

"General…" Gustavius said in a voice so deep it threatened to vibrate the candelabras off the many tables. No gas lamp lit the room, only living candles shining flickering shadows across the room. Outside, night reigned, but that didn't mean the view was lacking. In the distance, fires lit the night sky in a semicircle around Voska, flares of continuous bombardment flashing along the front far in the distance.

"You did not attend the briefing, Commander," General Frederic said with an expression carefully made to show an appropriate amount of displeasure.

"Do our men mean so little as to not even be given that courtesy?" Gustavius was quiet for a moment, looking down at his subordinate. By his feet, a lion awoke, giving a yawn that exposed inch-long fangs. The felines roused to glare at the general. Gustavius turned to stare out into the night once more.

"Did you know that cats are not native to this land?" he said.

"They were made by the fourth Lord of Beasts. A human she was, or so I've been told."

"Three thousand dead, twice that number wounded," Frederic retorted.

"Five hundred yards lost along the entire west and north flank." That didn't elicit a single reaction from Gustavius, the head of the military's might.

"The house cats were conjured to guide the fourth Lord's subjects, made to stave off the madness and urges of humans blessed by the flame of beasts. These…" The giant gestured to the felines at his feet.

"These ones were simply a show of strength. A tradition that outlived their creator."

"WE ARE BEING SURROUNDED!" Frederic burst into a shout that reverberated through the study. The echo repeated his words until they faded into silence. Only when the quiet had lingered for a moment did Frederic continue, now in a much lower tone.

"Yet all we've sent out to meet them is a penal battalion of Embers and Firelings." The massive man didn't budge at the display, but the felines by his feet hissed, their coats bristled.

"General, I acknowledge your trepidation. But do not fret, when I said the war had been won, I meant it, but victory between Blessed is not a simple brawl. The kindling is burned, whispering the names of their lord in hopes of resurrection. Many will die, and many will ascend. Look now at your forces." Gustavius gestured out into the night on the other side of the glass. Every few minutes, a low burst of fiery light could be seen by the front line.

More smooth and contained than the ravenous bombardment of artillery and steam cannons.

"Kindling turns to Embers. Slowly, painfully, the fire of a victor is being distilled. You don't jam a log in your hearth to produce a proper fire."

"You liken the death of my men to that of lighting a stove?" Frederic answered coldly. Gustavius turned and bore his eyes into the general, taking a single step over a colorful carpet to close the distance. A pressure grew in the room, the tongues of flame from a hundred candles pulled towards the man as if in reverence.

"This is your first proper war, General, so I will offer you some leniency for your previous excursions and the role your family plays in the city. But do not equate the city's success with the men's survival. They are nameless soldiers until the Old Flame says otherwise. Still, I have their best health in mind." A "tssk" escaped General Frederic even as the pressure from his commander grew, a slight flame lingering in the giant's eyes.

"Would you vow to that?" Frederic said, a defiant fire lighting in his own eyes. A knock interrupted the heated conversation, and in a blink the pressure receded. A trio of white-veiled figures entered in long strides. None spoke as the ghost-like figures made their way to their commander. Gustavius crossed his log like arms as the figures bowed, producing a yellowed letter. The lion snatched it out of their grasp, waving them off as he turned to the window once more.

"A letter from the church itself?" Frederic said. The fist of Nov Yanosk ripped through the paper and pored over its contents, out of view from his guest. But perhaps unbeknownst to him, his bleak reflection was visible in the glass, overlaid with his own fiery war in the distance. For the first time that night, a frown passed over his rough and squared features before quickly being forced back. Frederic didn't let that go unnoticed.

"Are you displeased with the words of the Saint herself?" Gustavius shook his head.

"Not at all," he said as he reached for a candelabra, letting the rough paper and its contents spark to life.

"To strengthen our own ranks...

"As per my word. Every Fireling shall now know the ritual to reach Blaze." Frederic squinted at the giant whose face flickered in the light of the burning message. In another part of the fortress, Wretch's voice reverberated between stone.

"Better, but you need to watch the shoulders, that's where the movement starts." Before him in the bleak and windowless room carved straight from stone, Fingers wheezed with shaking legs. The youngling looked haggard, dripping sweat after their light sparring. At least that was what Wretch deemed it.

"Seriously, how are you not tired, you…"

"You cardiovascular monster!" Fingers exclaimed between bated breaths.

"You have too many unnecessary movements, flailing around like a fish on a hook does you no good," Wretch said, stretching his long arms. His upper body was naked, exposing his wiry muscles and inhuman physique coated under fur that had just begun to grow back from yesterday's battle. At least he thought it was yesterday. The garrison for the General's dogs was more of a prison than any military abode, lacking windows or clocks entirely and leaving them in the perpetual low light of the gas lamps.

"Fish?" Waddles echoed from the corner where he was seated, rocking back and forth.

"Not now, Waddles," Wretch said with a wave, eyes still glued to the wheezing Blessed.

"In the beginning, it's all about footwork, it gives you the opportunity to both dodge, parry, and strike…" This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Fingers pounced without warning, human digits bursting through the skin of their hands to form clump-like battering rams. But Wretch had fed the little one more than a hundred of his own claws, and it showed. Razor-sharp claws now adorned each knitted fist. Wretch effortlessly spun around the strike.

"But a few dirty tricks are never a bad idea." Wretch dodged the strikes with quick steps, bobbing back and forth, until finally unleashing a kick that sent the smaller Blessed tumbling over the floor.

"Fingers hit ground again," Waddles chuckled.

"Little one loves to lick the stone!"

"By the Saint, I know you're a Fireling while I'm just an Ember," Fingers groaned, lying slumped on the ground.

"But that the divide would be this wide. Who even taught you all this?" Wretch placed his grip around one of his clawed digits and, with a flex of his muscles, ripped it clean off, the self-mutilation not producing even a wince. He threw the bleeding stump to the Ember.

"A hunter taught me. She was… is just as strong as me. A true natural-born killer."

"A woman?" Fingers said with a raised eyebrow.

"Red hair like fire, strikes with both strength and precision. Capable of wielding every weapon. She will be here sooner or later."

"You miss her!" Wretch was quiet for a moment, scenes flashed in his mind: A blood-drenched figure in a pile of dead monsters, the same woman with a grin despite her missing arm and foot. Elenya and Astrid had been his family. The only one he would ever have, or so he had decided. He didn't even try to deny it. Instead, he switched topics.

"Fingers, you have some good Blessings. To grow the digits from your skin or to burn them for both flame and increased strength. What happened for you to earn Blessings like that?" Fingers pushed themselves onto their knees and crawled to the wall, letting their back rest against the smooth stone.

"A foreman threw me into a textile machine I was working in," the Ember said, swiping sweat from their brow.

"I survived but landed in a container at the bottom, filled with the discarded threads."

"You broke out?" Waddles interjected. Fingers shook their head.

"I couldn't, survived on condensation and…"

"Human fingers," Wretch said as his own eyes lit with fire and a new claw grew from the wound on his hand.

"Yes. A month later the machine stopped for maintenance, I crawled out, and the Old Flame blessed me. A year later I found the foreman and wrung his neck. I got caught after that." Fingers held up Wretch's oversized claw and slowly put the entire thing into their mouth. They swallowed the thing whole with visible displeasure." Blergh. Still ain't used to eating your larger claws though. What about you, how'd you ascend?" Wretch placed a palm to the ground and pivoted up into a one-handed handstand.

His body was new, but he was getting used to its strength and long limbs.

"I fled into the sewers, fell, crawled, ate rats. Killed a Blessed one even, that's it. Back then I was searching for my father. A hunter, or something like it at least. That's why I joined them shortly after." Fingers chuckled.

"My luck, I can grow a lot thanks to you."

"You's not asking me?" Fingers and Wretch, the latter upside down, both looked to Waddles. The giant looked to be enjoying their company, happily unknowing of what was to come.

"All right Waddles, how'd you become Blessed?" The man, still seated on the floor, gave a mischievous look.

"It's a long story." To the surprise of Fingers and Wretch, the man didn't continue, but left the room in silence.

"Come on, Waddles," Wretch said finally, flipping back to his feet.

"Tell us!" The man snickered before speaking.

"I was looking for my papa. I remember him, sharp teeth. So I stayed up the nights and ate the things that climbed the walls. Some people too." Wretch's eyes narrowed while Waddles continued.

"I tried to make it to the spires. To climb. But guards were angry, so I ate them too. But more came and put me in a hole." Fingers, having regained his stamina, burst into laughter.

"Not really a long story, was it? Come on, Wretch, let's go for another round…" Fingers turned to the wolf-like man. Wretch was staring at Waddles.

"Wretch?"

"Your father…" Wretch said.

"You said he had sharp teeth?" Waddles tapped his chin.

"Yes, he did." Wretch ran through the memories of his own father. The one who had sent him down a path of violence and suffering. He had searched for that man, scoured archives and documents alike. The only thing he had found was his likeness in the engravings of ruined cities and statues of Nov Yanosk's highest spire, Saint's Summit. He had learned better now, he had already found what he was searching for. And lost it.

"What did he leave you, Waddles?" The giant thought for a moment.

"A book with nice pictures. And a message. But Waddles has forgotten and lost the book." Wretch answered without delay.

"Grow thy flame and meet me at the summit. What remains of you, I shall call kin." Fingers looked between the two.

"What the hell are you two going on about?" Wretch gazed deeply into the eyes of someone who might be his half-brother. A monster too, dangerous, unkind and brutal. Patches of past kills littered Waddles' skin. Was he any different? Steps grew closer in the corridor.

"It won't fix you…" Wretch said.

"Searching for him will only leave you broken." Waddles squinted back at him, as if trying to fit together a simplistic puzzle. Fingers, on the other hand, looked between the two.

"I see you are sharing some kind of connection. But… are we going to figure out a way to break these vows or not?" Wretch shook his head and sighed.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I have no—" A heavy-handed knock rocked the door.

"Fireling Wretch the Collector of Wounds, are you in there?" The trio turned their gazes to the thick wooden door, Fingers tapping their nails against the stone in discomfort. Wretch on the other hand, answered unperturbed.

"What of it?"

"A letter, from Commander Gustavius himself." Wretch took a few quick strides and opened the door, peering down at the low-ranking officer on the other side. He noticed everything about him, the slight tremor at the sight of his visage. The eyelids opening just a little wider. This one was holding it together. A white letter was handed to him, and the door shut.

"What's that?" Waddles said.

"Yeah, what is that?" Fingers said in agreement. Wretch just shrugged his shoulders and ripped the paper open, placing it on the desk beside the mirror as he read the printed letters. Fireling. By the grace of my might, I impart to you a secret in trying times. The way to reach Blaze is like all ascension, not a simple one, but it does carry an additional requirement. Consider this an extension of my providence.

To reach Blaze, one must not just be tried and tested in the eyes of the Old Flame, one must also already know their next name. Ascend and bring glory to Nov Yanosk. Gustavius the Lion, Right Hand of the Saint, Fist of Nov Yanosk and fourth commander of her might. A secret, out in the open. Pulled from the many threads of deceit in the city they protected. But its meaning held only some value to Wretch himself. Mostly, his thoughts were with another. One who had passed.

A Fireling who had fought and died for their city. One who had kindled dozens of times, yet never ascended further. Captain Edmund had died for his people. And all that time. They had known. Before he had even noticed, the paper crumbled in his claws. A raw and ferocious intent leaking out of him. It had not been enough for them. That Wretch had sacrificed everything for the city. Torn his flesh, bled and died. That he had become a beast used only to slay the city's enemies. That he had been bait.

That his captain, the first one to show him what kindness was, had perished. Now they wished for him to forget that his captain could have lived, if only not for their secrecy and greed. They expected him to accept that. Waddles and Fingers squealed as they fled, he barely noticed. Staring into nothing as his killing intent roiled. In the mirror, a reflection of a monstrous face smiled.