Chapter 49 - The Craving.
The scorching air above the dunes trembled in thick, shimmering currents rising from every heated surface toward a cloudless sky that had bleached to near white at its zenith. The sun hung directly overhead as a heavy, blinding disk, flooding the boundless sea of reddish dunes with harsh, merciless light that left not a single patch of shadow across everything in sight.
Aren walked forward with a wide, even stride, sinking ankle-deep into the loose hot sand with every step, every meter of it demanding slightly more than solid ground.
The ridges of the dunes rolled smoothly into one another ahead, each giving way to another silent wave of terrain, with no landmark on the horizon except the barely distinguishable dark silhouette of a plateau, hanging motionless in the haze far ahead.
Fine grains of sand worked their way into the cracks of his leather armor, gathered beneath the straps and packed between the layers, while the hot air scorched his throat with a dry, parching heat at every breath.
Over the entire expanse of the desert reigned an absolute, crushing silence, broken only by the quiet whisper of sand beneath his boots and the occasional gusts of hot wind that raised thin, rippling wisps of dust close to the ground.
Aren noticed that his body was responding to the heat considerably more calmly than he had expected. The familiar burning of a parched throat was absent, the skin beneath his armor had not turned slick with sweat, and his stride remained steady, without the weight that builds in the legs after long marching under an open sky.
"Walking has gotten so much easier… and thirst isn't bothering me, even though I can't remember the last time I drank water… maybe it's because I absorbed the energy from those giant serpents?" he thought.
He had no answer, but his body gave one with every confident step that followed, and Aren let the thoughts go, returning his gaze to the horizon and continuing forward through the scorching silence of the desert.
Suddenly, a powerful impulse rolled through Aren's entire body, making him stop dead where he stood, eyes wide open. He slowly turned his head to the right, but his gaze met only the same silent desert.
"What… was that just now…" he thought, then moved in the direction the wave had come from.
"Energy… monstrously powerful… just like Ursus…"
He walked about a hundred meters, climbed to the crest of one of the dunes, and stopped, discovering in the hollow between the dunes a dark, gaping cave mouth from which a palpable, crushing aura pressed outward. Aren frowned, then descended the shifting slope, moving straight toward the entrance until he stood at its very threshold.
A sharp, alien cold breathed from within, incomprehensible at the heart of this scorched desert. Somewhere deep in the rock, a heavy echo pulsed with a resonant, unhurried rhythm, and with it the power hidden deep in the stone grew ever more distinct.
"Without a doubt… something lives in the depths of this cave… something powerful… another beast-god?…"
Aren let out a quiet breath and turned to look back toward the distant plateau, barely an outline in the haze, then returned his gaze to the dark opening.
"Why… why has this strange craving taken hold of me?… as though I must defeat more and more of these creatures?… as though I need their power…"
He slowly closed his fist, lowering his eyes to the scorched ground at his feet.
"All I need is answers… but my journey has barely begun, and already what's happening to me has started to frighten me…"
The bandits from the Cursed Forest flashed before him, followed by the attackers from the desert in their thick cloth masks.
"These people… they were ready to kill me, but I managed to stop them without killing anyone… but will I be able to keep to that?… What happens if I ever kill a person?… Will I gain their power?… And if so… what if I start to feel the same craving to kill more and more people, the way I do now with monsters?…"
The noise built in his head as a dense, unceasing hum, and with it a dull anxiety crept into his chest, spreading wider and wider from his heart.
Then it was instantly drowned out by the memory of Elara standing at a moonlit window, face serious, eyes full of tears.
"Promise me. Promise me that when you come back, you'll still be the same person who left."
Aren stood still for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes and drew a deep, steady breath, snapping both fists shut in one sharp motion and cutting off the tremor running through him.
"And after all… I made her a promise…" he thought.
Aren opened his eyes, his gaze now fixed and resolute on the dark depths of the cave, and stepped forward.
Meanwhile, in the rocky part of the desert that stretched out as a flat, cracked plateau burned to a lifeless grey by years of relentless heat, its monolithic slabs of ancient stone cut through in all directions by even rows of deep fissures, seven shadows swept swiftly across the stone field from above, and then seven creatures touched down on the plateau one after another in heavy, coordinated landings, raising acrid white dust from the shattered rock.
The creature belonging to Lieutenant Irvis Rind landed first, pressing two broad taloned legs heavily into the fractured ground. A massive desert armored vulture, twice the mass of a common gryphon, raised its bony crest over a wide predatory skull and spread its wings, dark bronze veins running the length of every feather.
Rigid scaly armor the color of reddish ochre covered the creature's chest in dense growths, giving way at the neck to sharp horn plates.
Two large pupilless eyes swept the horizon with a wide, wary gaze, then the hooked beak snapped shut with a short, dry click.
Irvis Rind dropped from the wide battle saddle onto the stone without waiting for the creature to fully settle.
The lieutenant was a short, wiry man of about thirty-five with harsh, sharp features and silver skin. High cheekbones and a thin straight nose gave his face a hard, angular quality, while amber-yellow eyes swept the surroundings with cold precision. White hair, shaved to the skin at the temples and slightly longer on top, was gathered at the back of his head in a short, stiff knot.
A battle breastplate of polished sun steel with an engraved relief of spread wings covered his torso over a dense, pale gold uniform jacket, while on his right pauldron an inlaid photocyte fang glowed to mark his rank.
Artus landed two body-lengths to the right on a sun lancer, a long-winged creature with a feline body and a pair of broad predatory wings covered in dense golden plumage with a russet lining at the base of every feather.
The lancer's narrow, elongated muzzle was crowned by a single straight horn above the nose bridge, while a sun steel battle breastplate was secured to the creature by wide leather straps with copper fastenings.
Artus dropped from the saddle in one easy motion, tugging his jacket straight. A tall, broad-shouldered young man with a square jaw and the direct, open gaze of amber eyes, he looked noticeably larger than most of his unit. Short white hair jutted out in several directions after the long flight, while silver skin gleamed under the harsh desert light.
The standard battle breastplate of the base kit sat solidly on him, though the pauldrons had clearly been fitted for a different build.
Olen landed next on a young desert whirlwing, smaller than the other creatures in the unit.
The whirlwing was a lean, six-limbed creature with two pairs of membranous folding wings that folded down onto its back in a compact fan, while dense rows of fine copper scales ran the full length of its flexible body. Four narrow compound eyes on a flat head let it see in a full circle without turning its head.
Olen dropped to the stone with a somewhat clumsy landing and immediately straightened up.
A young man of medium height with fine, regular features and white hair falling freely to his shoulders, he scanned his surroundings in silence with attentive yellow eyes, taking in every detail with practiced focus.
Silver skin gleamed under the harsh desert light, while the standard battle breastplate of the base kit sat slightly off from a hasty fitting.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The remaining four fighters of the Twelfth Unit landed in a tight group behind them on two additional sun lancers and a pair of massive desert armored vultures of the same breed as the lieutenant's creature.
The warriors dismounted simultaneously, taking up positions with practiced coordination. Each of them was clad in an identical battle breastplate with photocyte shoulder panels.
Moving along the edge of the stone lowlands, Olen was first to come around a massive angular rock outcropping, then snapped his head up sharply.
"Lieutenant!"
The others converged on him to find, behind the outcropping, the unmistakable remains of a long-abandoned camp.
A dark burned scar from a fire spread across the cracked sandstone in a wide patch, beside which the stone showed deep depressions from driven stakes, while along the nearest rock ledge a wide, worn groove ran where a rope had been.
"Is it them?" Artus asked.
Irvis dropped to one knee, looking the camp over quickly, then rose.
"Mm… Erz. Brazen bastards, not even afraid to get this close anymore." He answered, turned, and walked on.
Olen and Artus exchanged a glance, then both lowered their eyes again to the dark charred mark spreading across the grey stone.
"Tell me, have you ever seen even one Erz?" Olen asked.
"Never… but I heard that a neighbor's son lost his mind and was cast out, and the neighbor still hasn't gotten over what became of his child." Artus answered.
"Yeah… I'd rather not deal with people like that…" Olen said thoughtfully.
"You're on duty, recruit. Of course you'll deal with this scum, and more than once. Besides, calling them people is a stretch. To us they're savages, and your job is to protect the people of Helios from these freaks." A crisp, confident voice came from behind.
Anna Lanz stood two paces from them, arms crossed over her chest, watching both trainees without a trace of indulgence.
A tall, slender figure with a straight, almost deliberately rigid posture stood out against the grey plateau with unmistakable self-assurance. Long snow-white hair was pulled into a high, tight ponytail that exposed the clean line of her cheekbones and her sharp, firm jaw. Silver skin shone under the harsh desert light, while piercing yellow eyes held both recruits with cold, utterly composed authority. Thin lips pressed into an unreadable straight line. The battle breastplate sat on her with flawless fit, while on her left pauldron a doubled photocyte sergeant's mark glowed.
"Yes, sergeant." Olen answered.
Meanwhile, in that part of the golden desert covered in sandy dunes, the dark cave swallowed every sound, leaving only the low, drawn-out moan of wind lost somewhere in the stone corridors.
Aren moved forward with slow, careful steps, holding his open palm out before him, covered in the faint bluish glow of his own energy.
The light barely reached a meter in any direction, forcing him to squint constantly, his hand sweeping side to side as he tried to make out the contours of the stone walls and the floor beneath his feet. His other hand held a drawn sword, cold and ready.
The floor beneath his left foot suddenly vanished.
Aren dropped before he could react, the tunnel catching his full weight and driving him straight down with gathering speed. Stone walls struck his shoulder, then his hip, then his shoulder blade, each one sending a dull, sharp jolt through him, and then a horizontal surface met his face with a dry, hollow impact.
The sword landed beside him with a metallic clang, skittering a few centimeters across the stone.
"Ah… fuck…" Aren muttered into the cold floor.
He lay still for a moment, letting his body catch up with what had just happened, then lifted his head with a heavy effort.
A new tunnel spread before him, wide and horizontal, curving in a smooth arc into the depths of the rock. Along both walls, yellow crystalline deposits nestled in the cracks and recesses of the stone, casting a steady, warm glow that reached every corner without exception.
After the pitch darkness of the upper cave, this light hit his eyes with unexpected force, making Aren squeeze them shut for several seconds.
He rose slowly, taking stock of the bruises along his ribs and left shoulder, retrieved the sword from the floor, and moved along the lit corridor with careful, even steps.
The powerful energy he had felt even at the cave entrance now pressed on his chest noticeably harder, building with every step in a heavy, pulsing wave.
The tunnel ended in a sudden drop-off, opening onto an enormous underground space beyond which a cavity spread so wide that the far walls were lost in layers of diffuse yellow glow. Thousands of crystalline deposits covered the stone vault and the walls of the colossal cave, flooding the entire space with an even, warm shimmer that left no shadow anywhere.
At the center of the floor, coiled in dense rings, lay something that made Aren involuntarily tighten his grip on the blade.
An enormous black-and-yellow basilisk, three times the length and mass of anything Aren had faced, rested in a deep, viscous stillness, its coils encircling a wide expanse of stone floor.
Black scales with amber veining shimmered in the crystalline light, reflecting it in small, fragmented glints along every plate. Above its powerful skull rose a dense palisade of horns spreading from the nose bridge to the back of the head in a regular arc, forming a massive serrated crown. The forked tail rested atop the lower coils, covered along its entire length in sharp bone spikes curved at their base.
The serpent's eyelids slowly parted.
Two enormous vertical pupils, surrounded by a molten amber iris, turned directly toward the tunnel exit where Aren stood, and then the creature's entire body began to slowly unwind, rising coil by coil with a slow, grinding scrape.
The basilisk's head rose to the very vault of the cave, then came down level with the tunnel opening, bringing itself face to face with Aren.
The serpent drew air into its broad ribcage, expanding its ribs with a low, crackling sound, then opened its maw and unleashed a roar of such power that a wave of vibration shook the stone all around.
The cave floor shook with a heavy tremor, sending a fine shower of stone grit raining from the ceiling, while a blast of displaced air tore through the tunnel at Aren's back and erupted out through the entrance above.
Aren barely kept his footing, clutching the edges of the tunnel opening.
Raising his head, he saw a pulsing magical shell spreading across the basilisk's scales, enveloping its body in a shimmering shroud of crushing aura. The pressure of it against Aren's chest became nearly physical.
"Now I'm certain… it's definitely a beast-god… and clearly a match for Ursus." Aren thought.
The serpent's head slammed into the tunnel opening with its full mass, and in that same instant Aren shoved off from the tunnel's edge, launching himself out into the cave in a wide leap. His feet found the stone floor behind the beast-god's body, absorbing the momentum in a short sliding step.
The blade clattered to the stone to the side, released deliberately, and Aren covered both hands in energy claws, dense curved masses of blue light that took the place of his customary weapon, then dropped into a fighting stance, weight balanced low on both feet.
The beast-god began slowly turning its entire body, shifting its gaze toward the source of movement behind it.
"And yet… I've already defeated one beast-god… and with you… I'll manage too." Aren thought, his irises burning bright blue as he fixed his gaze on the basilisk.
Meanwhile, the lieutenant's unit had already descended onto the crests of the sandy dunes, then spread out across a wide area where the scorching ground bore unmistakable marks of a recent slaughter.
Severed limbs lay mixed with shattered bones and dark patches of congealed blood that had soaked deep into the hot sand.
Scattered body fragments marked the boundaries of the struggle in a wide, chaotic circle, and closer to the center the remains grew smaller and smaller.
"What the hell… what happened to them?…" one of the soldiers said.
"Most likely a basilisk. Looking at these tracks, the pattern of movement is clear." Irvis answered.
Anna methodically circled the perimeter, head low, reading every trace in the ground, then straightened.
"But basilisks don't leave behind even a piece of prey… and on top of that… there are two sets of tracks here, not one. There were two of them." She said.
Irvis frowned, shifting his gaze to a deep hollow to the side where the sand had been pressed into a wide crater with smooth, glazed edges. Nearby, twenty meters to the right, a second matching impression lay in the ground.
"Yes… but something here doesn't add up at all… feels like one dropped here, and the other one there… what was going on here?…" He asked the desert.
"Maybe they fought over prey and turned on each other?" Artus suggested.
"In that case, why isn't there a single drop of basilisk blood?… They're creatures of immense pride, fighting to the death. There's no serpent's body here, no blood, and they didn't finish their prey." Irvis answered.
Everyone lowered their frowning gazes, scanning the scattered remains.
Irvis rose from his knee with a sigh, surveying the area one more time.
"Alright, check the northern section, then we head back to Solum…"
Suddenly, a shrouded figure erupted from beneath the sand a meter from the outermost soldier, driving a curved dagger deep into the fighter's throat in one short, hard thrust.
He collapsed forward without a sound, not yet understanding what had happened, while from the dunes on all sides the remaining figures in thick desert rags rose and threw themselves at the others.
Irvis reacted before the nearest attacker had covered half the distance between them. The lieutenant shifted sharply to the side, letting the raised blade pass his shoulder, then locked a hard grip on the attacker's wrist and snapped the arm at the elbow with a short, sharp twist.
Without releasing the limp arm, he turned the weakened body to face the next attacker, absorbing his blow with someone else's flesh, then drove the edge of his palm into the base of the second Erz's neck, sending him face-first into the hot sand.
Anna didn't wait for the attack. A photocyte crystal flared in her palm as a dense yellow mass, and she hurled it toward the rushing figure when he was three meters out. The bolt of light, shaped into a short blade, drove into the center of his chest with a dull impact and threw him back down the steep slope of the dune.
A second Erz came in from the flank, raising his dagger for an overhead strike, but Anna sidestepped with a sharp twist of her body, caught his arm in a pain hold and threw his own weight over her extended hip, slamming the back of his head into the hard crest of the dune, then immediately pulled out a second crystal and threw it straight into the mouth of the third, who rushed at her screaming with his maw wide open. Stunned by the small crystal landing in his mouth, the Erz didn't manage even a blink before Anna clamped his mouth shut with her hand and drove her energy into the crystal, and a blade of light formed inside his mouth, piercing straight through his skull with a bloody crunch.
Artus absorbed the blow to his chest intentionally, letting the attacker put his full body weight into the thrust, then closed his hand around the man's wrist and dragged him forward, turning the man's own momentum against him. Before the Erz had time to register the loss of balance, a powerful blow from the pommel met his temple with a short crack, and the body settled softly into the scorching sand. A fifth attacker rushed at Artus from the side, but he managed a wide forearm block to absorb the blow, then drove both hands low into the man's chest in one sharp push, sending the Erz tumbling down the slope.
Olen stepped back two paces, letting the first thrust pass, then raised an open palm toward the charging figure. The photocyte crystal in his hand gave an uneven flash, throwing a burst of scattered light straight into the attacker's face. The blinded Erz lost the direction of his strike, and Olen stepped behind him, forcing him down to his knees with a sharp press on the shoulder and neck, then brought his hilt down on the base of his skull.
The remaining two fighters of the Twelfth Unit drove the last attackers into a tight pincer, working in pairs with practiced coordination. One took the blows on an upraised pauldron to hold attention, while the other came in from the open flank and cut the man down with one precise stroke.
Everything went silent as suddenly as it had begun.
Irvis looked over the bodies spread across the sand, then shifted his gaze to the ring of a dozen Erz around them, ready for a second attack.
His face didn't change for a fraction of a second, but his yellow eyes darkened by one shade.