Chương 96: A Glint of Betrayal

It began as a rumble. A low hum perceptible only to those with the most sensitive ears. Days later, plumes of smoke reached for the horizon to the northwest. When the ground began to tremble, the miles of battlements scarring the clean-cut forest were long finished, the mud covered by a thin layer of snow. Why they had chosen this place for the initiation of the coming conflict, Wretch didn't know. Nor did it matter to him.

He was here because he had no other place to be, and he wished to do the only thing he had ever excelled at. The General's dogs settled into quiet waiting, soothed by the promise of what was coming. Most of the time, they were locked deep within the stone fortress. The previous brutality had diminished under a hierarchy of strength, and he was undoubtedly at its peak, left to his lonesome, only occasionally disturbed by Fingers and Waddles. The two were only Embers, one shrewd and the other strong.

Wretch gave Fingers a clawed finger now and then. More out of boredom than anything else, or at least he told himself so. The rest of the time, he spent sharpening his own strength. Astrid was in the stronghold, and he wouldn't let it fall. He was Wretch, Collector of Wounds. Ten times had he kindled his flame and on the edge of Blaze, the third tier of ascension. A little push, an appropriate challenge, a worthwhile enemy, and he would be given new strength.

If he closed his eyes and looked inward, he could see the rows of his former enemies circling his flame with bowed heads. Beasts and men alike, all slain and eaten by him, reduced to forms in his repertoire. The man he once was had begun with only two Blessings, Flesh Stealer and Regeneration. The first granted the power to change his own form permanently at the cost of permanently lowering his flame, the same power Waddles possessed. He had, however, been much more considerate in his changes, at least initially.

Now he was a horror through and through, draped in long fur with claws and snout. His feet were houndlike, his back muscular and hunched, and a tail protruded from his lower back. He had an acid gland at the back of his throat, sharp teeth, and red eyes. He was no doubt marred by the creatures he had consumed. Besides those weapons, he could heal wounds, even regrow limbs. But that wasn't all. The ascension to Fireling had granted him another Blessing. Form-Weave.

The power to quickly mutate a bodily change from those at his disposal at the cost of a massive amount of Flame. A power best used as a last resort to turn the tide of battle in desperation. All in all, he truly was a sharpened and abominable weapon, fit to be hidden behind a funeral veil and turned against the city's enemies only in desperation. Days later, Fingers and Waddles sat cross-legged on his floor, playing with dice made from twisted metal canisters. Wretch, on the other hand, sat staring into the mirror.

The pair had grown closer, though the smaller of the two undoubtedly used the other for protection. Waddles threw the two crude dice across the stone with a clatter. Before they had even come to rest, he cupped his massive hands around them. With a squinted eye, he peeked under his palm.

"It's six dots," he said with a mischievous grin. Fingers squinted back at him.

"All right, I guess six then." Waddles let out a rumbling chuckle and revealed the six-sided dice. One showed two dots, the other only one.

"It's a three. Waddles tricked Fingers." The other Blessed threw up their hands in mock defeat.

"You're a good trickster, my big friend. But Waddles, haven't you promised the General not to lie?" Waddles scratched one ear, a mismatched perky one reminiscent of a cat's. It was silent for a while, and Wretch turned his head toward the pair. Fingers stared intently at the massive brute, waiting for an answer.

"Waddles forgot. Must tell the truth, yes?"

"That's right," Fingers said.

"But how do you feel?"

"Hungry. Wants this war to begin."

"See," Fingers said, licking their lips and turning to Wretch on the bed.

"He doesn't look to be exploding to me," Wretch said.

"Good, good," Fingers said with a wide smile.

"This confirms it. If you forget a vow, it no longer applies. We can escape." Wretch shrugged his wide shoulders.

"I have no intention of leaving. This is where I want to be." That only produced a frown on Fingers' lips bordering on disgust. The Blessed parted their lips to answer, but a call from the hall interrupted the trio. It seemed things were beginning to move. Finally. A few minutes later, the General's dogs were shuffling in a row behind Kattla through the fortress. In only the few weeks he had been in Voska, Wretch had seen the fortress change.

Infrastructure had grown through the old battlements like a choking vine, engines pushed into every corner, pipes bolted to every surface in a hasty web. All of it was blanketed in a continual stream of soldiers and supplies. The place had every right to be noisy, but this day, a tense silence had settled over the space. Even the unblessed could feel it. Something was coming. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Kattla and the group ascended ramps and stairs, catching curious looks as they went. No wonder. Wretch could hear the whispers. They knew what they were, the penal group of monsters. They arrived in a large hall, marked by a massive round bath surrounded by exotic plants, mirrors, and servants carrying fresh fruits that made the dogs lick their lips. Kattla gave them a hard glare. She had bound them with a tight web of orders but still seemed to fear one of them would slip.

"Keep the veils on. Don't speak. Don't move unless commanded." Her lips pulled into a smile.

"Make a scene, and I promise you, I'll force some discipline into your crooked spines." Wretch cast a glare at the servants and the interior as they moved deeper into the opulent chamber. From the steaming pool to the gold-tinted furniture, it all reeked of excess. The group moved on into a study carved into the stone itself. One end of the circular room was completely replaced by a window, letting in the crisp winter light and revealing a breathtaking view of the battlements to the east.

They had ascended higher than Wretch had realized, and the myriad of soldiers working the trenches below were nothing but moving dots. Far in the distance lay the approaching haze and rumble of their opposition. The room was filled with figures speaking leisurely with one another while refreshments were served. Wretch recognized some. Blessed all. Three, perhaps four hundred of them by his estimate. So this is the reason, a briefing before it begins? To him, it couldn't happen soon enough.

To others, well, he could see their glances toward the distance, hear the trembling fingers wrapped around their drinks. As the dogs entered, many conversations stopped, replaced by whispers and nods in their direction. Wretch saw one in particular, a fair young woman with blonde hair and green eyes, clad in white. Astrid. She was surrounded by others in similar attire, no doubt the leaders of the medical teams. She took a step toward them with a look in her eyes that he recognized.

The one she wore when an answer was about to be demanded. A trumpet interrupted her. From a different entrance, a giant entered through a doorway built for his passing. Gustavius the Lion and his entourage came into the oversized study with an air of royalty. Half a dozen lions circled his ankles. The youngling with the massive curved sword walked behind him with a bored look, and even General Frederic was there, followed by a dozen figures carrying the white veils synonymous with the upper echelon of the church.

The whispers quieted at once, and all eyes turned toward the giant, now dressed in a silken robe of blue and gold. The kind upper society women used after a bath, a stark contrast to the golden armor of days past. Gustavius trailed his eyes over the group, absently being handed a cup of sparkling wine.

"Blessed men and women of Nov Yanosk," he began in a voice so deep it vibrated in Wretch's chest.

"A toast to future victories." The General's dogs hadn't been given anything to toast with. Instead, they stood silently in a row while the other Blessed raised their cups. Only then did Wretch spot a recognizable figure in a corner of the study, a woman in a suit, a masculine attire compared to the lavish dresses and costumes among the others. A singular strand of gray hair in the black. A stiff and weary expression on her lips. Dalynja the Beast Breaker.

In his short time as a hunter, he had grown more roots than he had realized. As the room toasted, Gustavius spoke again.

"A glorious bunch, the Blessed might of Nov Yanosk before me, men and women bubbling with anticipation. Take this time to recognize your comrades." He gestured with an open palm to the youngling with the sword standing next to him." Sasha the Blade-Tide, the newest Pyre to rise from our ranks, the South's edge, the behemoth's bane." Gustavius seemed to enjoy the attention, even thrive on it. Sasha, on the other hand, was emotionless. Gustavius moved his open palm to General Frederic."

General Frederic of many Oaths, the newest star among the military's upper echelon, loved by the Flame as much as by his own troops. Don't take him too lightly, or he might bind you to his service." Gustavius turned to the black-veiled dogs. Wretch felt a smooth and warm pressure, even through the flimsy veil. It was a demanding intent, but it was also encouraging, as if the giant was utterly convinced of his abilities.

"See, his dogs are even present on this day. Dangerous and crude, as weapons should be, subdued by his promises and the harsh words of a borrowed hunter." Gustavius gave Kattla a knowing smile and a charismatic wink that she did not miss. She only returned a courteous nod. Gustavius then turned his back to the group, gazing out the window as his lions stalked between the many Blessed, baring their inch-long fangs. The creatures were sleek and beautiful, reminding Wretch of a polished weapon.

Though they looked small next to their giant master, they were still large enough to reach the chest of an average human. Burnt golden fur lay tight over bulging muscles. The giant almost glowed in the light of the suns, and he exhaled deeply in a theatrical display. The rows of Blessed in their unique weaponry, outfits, and physiology glanced between Gustavius and his beasts prowling among them.

"You can see them now, our prey, unaware as they march toward death and defeat. But we can expect them to struggle." He turned toward the group, his lips still perched in a smile, but his eyes projected a will.

"In fact, I can sense at least five of you struggling even here." Five of his lions had stopped, each circling a different Blessed among the group. A glass of sparkling wine fell to the floor with a crack as people understood what was happening. Traitors.

"No doubt you carry plenty of charms to ward off prying eyes," Gustavius began.

"How fitting that the hidden disgust in your eyes would betray you." Weapons slid out of sheaths.

"What do you say, General Frederic?" Gustavius's deep voice bellowed over the hall, just as calm as before.

"Why don't you show me what these dogs of yours can do?" Wretch tensed, an urge pulling at his senses. Warm and sweet, in contrast with the apathy that had seeped into his being. He was alive for a singular reason, and that reason was the end of many.