The End Times

Latorus

The ice stetched out of sight, featureless save for the occasional dusty, wind-blown snow that had become balled together. It was so cold that Latorus had become senseless. In spite of this he knew that he must reach the beacon because there, was light and Hope.

It was not in any way blinding, nor was hope shatteringly faint. It just simply existed, lying amidst a field of white death dispelling the grimness of the locale like a candle in the darkness. Latorus took an unsteady step forward in pursuit of the unknown being. At this point, anything that resembled warmth or shelter appealed greatly to him. Although the warm fields of the Ignissian countryside were a idealistic solution, this light was his catalyst. He would have died long ago if it weren’t for this alien being.

Latorus flicked the snow out of his heavy bushy eye, wincing in pain as he did it. He was a large, gruff man with a scraggly beard, somewhat typical of what you would expect a native Ignissian to be like. The drab rags that hung around his body like the water to a sponge barely kept in enough heat to live in. The various cuts and bruises burned in pain as he stumbled on through the biting winds, constantly thinking about what went wrong back on the Yoquas road.

His eye was infected to such a degree that he knew that there was nothing for it; it would have to be cut out, probably painfully. The damned Orcus spiders made sure of that. His whole convoy was ambushed by a great horde of the spindly, hairy, horrific beasts from the South, violently charging with reckless abandon for their own life, satisfying their bloodlust in the most sadistic fashion imaginable. It could have been an Iacetian ambush, it could have just been just horrible bad luck. Either way he couldn’t go back into the devil spawns jaws. He had to press on through the Dead Zone.

The frozen dunes of the Dead Zone seemed to resonate the icy aura of the Vendexian Wanderers that resided throughout this frozen wasteland. Latorus simply stepping into the Dead Zone was a near suicidal act, the Vendexian Wanderers don’t tend to take lightly to any trespassers that are brave, or some would say foolish, enough to trespass into their territory. It is an unwritten law in the Three Kingdoms that if you are misguided enough to walk into their domain, the punishment of death is what can only be expected from your idiocy. But Latorus didn’t really have much of a choice.

The numbness seemed to pulse throughout his body and his Winchester Repeater assault rifle had long since frozen over and crumbled apart from within, meaning he had no form of self-defence, unless he wanted to throw bullets at any potential threats. His UI piece was malfunctioning constantly meaning he was more often than not, heading in the wrong direction. New Denver was complicated enough as it is. The feeling of fragility in his various limbs crackled throughout his body. The Morbissiats of Ignissia would know what to do in a situation like this. It was a shame then that Latorus was simply a lowly born Titan.

More than once Latorus stumbled and fell, taking every ounce of his rapidly draining strength to clamber back to his feet and keep persevering towards the welcoming beacon. But when he reached its general proximity the dense fog began to clear up and a single, simple camp with a tent and fire lay ahead. There were people living there.

He nearly broke into a sprint, disregarding his rapidly declining strength, eager to get to the warmth of the fire. He nearly began to enjoy the sound of his boots crunching against the soft, beautiful snow, already revelling in the heat that would envelop him in the not to distant future. He called out to the camp with a hoarse and gruff shout, praying the inhabitants were not hostile, to all the Gods, the Ignissian Gods, the Orbission Gods, the Iacetian Gods, he didn’t care.

Yet his prayers would dutifully answered, and no less by a child who seemed to be around the age of 7. The boy crawled cautiously out of his dank and damp tent to observe the oncoming presence. And when the boy’s eyes rested upon Latorus they lit up brighter than any brazier throughout the Archipelago. A great smile appeared on his face as he jumped and skipped in a circle, shouting in glee. It wasn’t the reaction Latorus was expecting.

Latorus fell back into the snow entranced sending up clouds of mist and cold. But he barely noticed. He simply fell into a stunned and Soon after another benefactor appeared out of the opposite tent. A woman of Ignissia, her tanned skin contrasting the chill and cold of the snow stunningly. She dropped the basket full of meats, vegetables and various delicacies from all over the Archipelago she was carrying and stared at Latorus at disbelief.

Latorus only ran faster.

When he finally reached the camp he leaned over to catch his breath and breathlessly muttered his dilemma to the woman, “Convoy…Orcus spiders…heat… please”. It was pitiful. Slowly the boy edged towards his mother edging into Latorus' vision, his face coming into full view. He had auburn hair shortly cut and magnetizing brown eyes reminiscent of the woodlands of Racart. But it was not the eyes that stunned Latorus. It was that he recognised the boy. No, more than recognized. He loved the boy that stood before him. It was Dayus, his son.

Deathly silence. Latorus found himself physically unable to tear his eyes from Dayus. It was at that moment that the woman lowered herself to Dayus' level, but Latorus wished she hadn't. It was Vermilda. His wife.

There was a deathly silence. Both of the people in front of Latorus should be dead and buried in the gardens of the Great One, yet here they were looking young and sprightful as always. Dayus wriggled free of his mother’s grasp and crawled towards Latorus atop the snowy dune. Latorus only looked at him with wide eyes not daring to utter a whisper as to address the events that were unfolding.

Dayus crawled up close to him and simply pointed at his calf. Latorus cautiously looked downwards and examined his leg. And there protruding from the back of his leg like a spike out of a cactus was a small dart, small enough to not even notice if you weren't paying attention.

Dayus walked back to his mother, like a child who had recently been scolded and they together, gently, they were simply swept away from existence by the bitter winds of the Dead Zone. Latorus latched onto every wisp of their existence until there was truly nothing there in front of him. The basket, the fire, the camp. It had all disappeared. The sadness hit Latorus like a tonne of bricks.

But the fist that came flying out of the swirling mists that surrounded him hit much harder, gently easing him in the gentle grace of the abyss of his mind.

N.B I am fully aware that there are quite a lot of alien words spread throughout this intro to a potential novel. If I do continue to write, all of those words will be explained etc.

This is a refined version of a story I had made earlier. Feedback/Comments are greatly appreciated.