Chương 108: Omen of Misfortune

It was painful. Even to someone like him. Waves of heat ravaged his body, a red-hot needle of divinity infusing his flesh with strings of scalding gold. Whispers of madness, uttered from inhuman throats, grew with each wave—sharp razors cutting at the edges of his consciousness, scraping away at things he no longer needed. He had to fight it. To ground himself, lest he be pulled away and become one with the inferno. He reached for the sensation of his missing arm, the open wounds and itching scars.

That had always been enough, his mortal suffering an anchor to who he was. But this was different. He felt his senses forcibly stretched like torn fabric. Away and out from his body, out into the world around him. His blessing was forming, but he did not carry the sensory organ to wield it. So the flames warped him to wield it. He was losing control, blood dripping from his snout to fizz into smoke from the heat. He opened his eyes, and through the waves of heat he saw him.

Grendel the White Death, a monster of white fur vibrating through the heat. He wished for that man to die. And that wish ached more than any throbbing wound. Grendel shot towards him. Evidently not willing to let him finish his ascension. The flames still pulsed out of Wretch, his eyes and mouth glowing with pure holy flame still infusing his being. Grendel didn't care.

One monstrous palm protected his eyes and the other shot through the flames, the white fur scorching instantly even as what remained of the mist surrounded the Pyre. The monster reached for Wretch's throat even as Grendel's skin blistered and boiled. But Wretch saw him, and he let him come. Monstrous fingers a hair's breadth from his throat, and he pivoted violently. Grendel's hand passed by his shoulder. Wretch's balled fist shot forward like a burning comet. It connected at the chin with a crack.

Grendel was larger, far larger now that he had lost concentration of his form. But the hit and waves of heat burned and seared. The Pyre tumbled to the side, rolling away from the inferno as the last of the sickly mist evaporated. The fire pulled back too, receding into a firm core in his chest. A place of power that could force its will on the world. Despite the wounds covering half of Grendel's body, he pounced once more, a howl escaping the Pyre's throat. Wretch dodged to the side.

His body reacted quickly, and a spring was contained in the step that he hadn't anticipated. His mind, previously walking the edge of demise, returned to him in full. A new Blessing, a new way to hurt. But he had no time to look deeper, only the vague sensation of things hiding deep in the burning trenches, things at his command in exchange for a thread of flame. Grendel launched into a string of attacks, each more desperate than the last but deadly nonetheless. If he caught him, it was over.

Wretch backpedaled and dodged with the skill of a thief turned monster. A strike towards his chest, but not wholeheartedly. A feint for a kick meant to trip. A jump backwards. A reach for his wrist. Wretch dodged low and pulled them closer, the things hidden deep in the soot. Both monsters wheezed, their movement slowing after continuous exertion for hours on end. With the sluggish movement, Wretch saw an opportunity. The malevolent thought turned into a harsh command.

Grendel grabbed towards him again, but froze, something scrambling up his leg, up his back towards his ear. The hand—covered in blisters—retreated, plucking something from his neck with only a second to spare. A rat, squirming in the monster's grip. With a squeeze, the tiny vermin erupted in a squeal before bursting into red gore. Grendel's eyes narrowed, and his gaze trailed from Wretch's fiery eyes down towards the ground. It was moving. Creatures with pelts of gray crawled in the ash. Grendel took a step back.

The hundreds of rats scurried onwards to their master, rushing to his feet with calls of devotion.

"They're hard to control. But I think I'll learn quickly," Wretch said with an expression of neither joy nor pain, despite his missing arm and open wounds.

"Rats, how fitting," Grendel replied.

"You know that if that Pyre hadn't whittled me down, they'd be nothing but a nuisance. A weak excuse of a Blessing."

"There's more to it. But you won't be around to see me experiment," Wretch replied.

"Now, weakened as you are. Do you think you can stop all of them from reaching your ears and mouth?" The two brothers, hurt and broken in all but spirit, stared at each other. Neither noticed the white dove circling high above. Someone, somewhere, was watching and they had decided the outcome. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Now, let's end this before—" A loud bang followed by a continuous wail came from the east. Both turned, blinking blood from their eyes. A firework reached for the sky, shooting through the haze of war. Wretch's eyes went wide.

"No." The ordnance exploded in a cloud of blue. The color of retreat.

"NO!" Wretch roared. His vows to the general gave no sympathy. He tried to twist them in his mind, turning the orders of the officer into something else as they'd done when the trench was demolished. But he was no dimwit like Waddles. He could not forget or lose his sense of direction. He wasn't free to hunt whom he wished. Someone owned him, and his task had been to hold ground until a signal to retreat was sent. Do so or die. When the falling Zeppelins had blasted away the ground itself, they'd been able to move.

But his own intellect and panicked thoughts believed it to apply, and that was all that mattered. A squeeze grew around his heart, like a vise slowly narrowing. Grendel looked at the cloud of blue dispersing into the gray, and a laugh rattled from his throat.

"Even with all your luck. It's a draw, kin of my blood." Wretch hissed and was forced to take a step back. His concentration escaped him and the rats dispersed. Grendel shrank back into his human form, clutching his knees. Burned on his entire left side, he struggled upright and walked slowly to the west and the Gulschak line.

"Until next we meet!" he called over his shoulder, l eaving Wretch to slowly backpedal in the opposite direction. A howl of fury sent the rats tunneling deeper. Further to the east, a new battle line had been drawn. Waiting trenches reinforced with ammunition, boilers, and soldiers. A youngling with hollow cheeks worked a wrench against a pipe running down the length of the trench.

"First-Lieutenant Alik, the new steam-cannon is ready." An older man, carrying a well-trimmed mustache, peeked over the lip of the defenses. Beyond, the remains of the flying war-machines still burned with enough smoke to blot out the suns above.

"Good, but I doubt they'll send something through after that failure. Rest, gentlemen. We might have lost a mile, but it cost them dearly." More of the men peeked over to look at the inferno beyond.

"The Lion be praised, maybe the Gulschaks finally have had enough, and the rails can start working again." Alik worked through his pockets and pulled out a pipe and tobacco pouch. The latter was almost empty. He pressed what remained into the bowl and lit it with a hand missing two fingers.

"Perhaps." Another soldier sighed, a bandage over the left side of his face.

"I'd do anything to eat something other than spam and canned potatoes. Even give my other eye." A few of the men chuckled. From between them, a rat scurried through the trench, up a leaning beam, and darted towards the burning no-man's-land. Alik took a drag of his pipe.

"Plenty of rats if you can catch them. I once met a kid from the Lows who had ascended after eating one. Don't remember his name… maybe it was Walter… no, something stranger."

"Really? Ascended from eating a rat? Maybe I should try it, at least those bastards get to fill their stomachs," an underling answered with a sneer. Alik grew a cautious smile.

"Must have been some rat." The sound of scurrying claws came from behind them, and the group looked over. A pair of vermin threw themselves from above the trench into the cold mud, scaling their way up to disappear to the east. The group looked at each other.

"Surely that's nothing, right?" the one-eyed soldier said. They gripped their weapons in silence. Over the low rumbling of war, a wave of skittering noises grew louder. Slowly their eyes grew wider. A dozen furred vermin shot from the floorboards. A soldier yelped in horror. From their own territory, hundreds followed, throwing their bodies towards no-man's-land as if possessed. Some even crawled up the screaming soldiers to jump out of the trench.

"Man your positions!" Alik shouted, the pipe tumbling from his lip. The soldiers pulled at their uniforms and stomped their boots, but as quickly as the swarm had arrived, it was gone.

"Get the bloody steam-cannon shuddering," Alik hissed.

"Something's coming!" The soldiers shot to their positions with shallow breaths, faces pale. One crawled up into the exposed cannon, pulling at levers at a frantic pace. Only a few moments later, they all stared at the burning debris beyond their trench.

"You'll fire on my command," Alik said, training a crossbow over the lip of the battlement.

"Valdi, you'll be the runner. If I say so, you leg it. Tell the next battlement over to get ready. Don't look back." None answered. Instead, beads of sweat ran down furrowed brows. Unblinking eyes flickered between the shadows of no-man's land. From the cloud of soot and embers, someone walked. The heat mirage made the figure sway, but one detail was certain. Two burning eyes.

"Praise the Lion," a soldier whispered under his breath.

"First-Lieutenant, I'm ready to fire," said the cannon operator. Alik squinted at the approaching figure.

"No way…"

"Lieutenant?" repeated the operator. The figure grew closer, walking with a heavy limp. Growing clearer by the second. A missing arm, the other far too long to be human, and a hunched back.

"LIEUTENANT?" screamed the cannon operator with a trembling voice.

"Don't fire!" Alik shouted back, shooting to his feet to pull his soldiers back.

"It's that bloody dog." Wretch walked out of the haze with labored breath. Behind him, a thousand rats pulled an unconscious body.

"Officer," an inhuman voice crawled from his throat.

"Did you signal the retreat?" A shudder passed through the man.

"No, it came from deeper within the trenches." Wretch gnashed his teeth.

"The infirmary… The healer called Astrid… lead me there."