After Days - Chapter 16

A stiff hollow filled the Master General’s throat as he stepped into the tall, dark chamber. There weren’t many things which could fill the old man with unease, but being summoned before the Order after such a hefty loss, that was enough to make Franklyn Steel feel faint.

His hands cupped his kepi at his front as he shuffled onto the lowered centre platform, his head bowed. He resembled a maid more than a war chief. Ironically, for now, perhaps a maid would suit him better as he tried to clean up the mess he had been left with.

He stood silently in the centre of eight pillars, which surrounded him, stretching so high that they became lost in the darkness. Flicks and twitches revealed his nerves as he rolled his head lowly, trying to shake the feeling of damnation.

“Why is it that the moment you step into our midst, I feel tired?” A voice croaked from a throne, carved high into one of the pillar.

Steel lifted is head to apologise, not answer, though he found himself hushed as a voice from the pillar behind him took the liberty.

“Perhaps it is because he has yet to deliver on his promises.” It hissed with a feminine edge.

“Hmm.” The first voice pondered. “No, I’m sure it is simpler than that, primal perhaps. His failings have yet to exhaust my patience, though I grow wary of his impotence.”

“Parasite.”

“Mortal.”

Two new voices added their own scraping insults from above. Temper flared within Franklyn Steel, a temper which if expressed would be trivial. Clenching down on his kepi was the only thing he could rightfully do to drain on his emotions.

“Enough.” A deep but honeyed voice commanded, and the others obeyed as their shadows slouched back. Red lights breathed to life around the opening of the highest throne, trailing into intricate patterns on the armrests and crown. They cast a sinister light over an old, hooded man, hunched and frail. The tip of his long, braided beard hung low over his chest, clad with light ceremonial armour.

Steel’s head bowed lower and the pillar to the head of the chamber began to grind into the floor, bringing the hooded man closer. “My King, I mu-”

“I am no king!” The man barked through rotted, sharp teeth, declination echoing through the room, drowning the sound of grating marble and metal. “This world can be no kingdom, and can have no king. Your failings have seen me without an heir yet again, human, and left me without rule.”

The words fell heavily on the cowering man as he dropped helplessly to his knees, his kepi now a scrunched mess in his fist. “Forgive me, my Lord. I have never wished to cause you any delay. I swear, on my life, that I will get you the boy and the power your children need to grow.”

“The boy is not enough.” The feminine voice declared as her throne too began to burn red.

“Not alone at least.” The hooded man corrected calmly from his throne. “It will take more than simply raw power to ensure our kin’s survival. They must be made anew.”

Steel glanced up in confusion, regarding the lord who sat before him.

“Fool! Your arrogance angers me!” A strong, massive figure, the one who had cried mortal, cursed as his pillar lowered, showering the ground with dust. “Has the nature of our curse evaded you again? We are doomed to be vessels to our own majesty, and for that majesty to burn our children. Infusing our offspring with greater power will only destroy then, not save them. Their excellence has never been in question!” A balled fist slammed into the edge of its throne. “It is their form that leaves them crippled.” The giant leant forward in his throne, his fingers crunching against the glowing armrest. Anger poured through grinding teeth as his oddly horned jaw tightened.

“Indeed.” The hooded man agreed, stroking the length of his white beard with interest.

“Be done with him, Malthen!” The woman snapped, clutching her clawed hands like a barbed vice. The red hue from her throne brought highlights to the bronze casing, encrusting the back her skull. It seemed to flow in small, flexible joints across the length of her back and arms, wrapping around and over her breasts with a wide parting in the middle. Her eyes were slits as she beamed down to the quaking mortal below. “The flesh has left us wanting, tear it from him!”

The muscular giant readier himself for murder, moments before Fer’Ath, their leader, refused his desire. “Tark!” He cried to the giant. “Elyeu!” To the woman. “I will now have this chamber stand as testimony to execution.”

The couple settled back into their thrones, seeming far too content with their defeat.

“Though your concerns do not go unheeded.” Malthen said as an aged finger ran across his own jugular. Failure, primarily of this nature, was not forgivable to the Order. They had entrusted Steel with their desires, and had been left without reward. For Malthen to leave the man unpunished would certainly invite mutiny amongst his peers.

The room rang with heavy, hungry breathing. Steel whimpered with childish hicks, relieved that his lord had shown mercy, though panic raced through him as he could not foresee what his true punishment would be.

“You are a coordinator, am I right?” Malthen pondered aloud.

“My Lord?” Steel looked up with tears tracing the wrinkles across his face.

“The search for the human’s champion, you have held the reins while others marched?”

A choked nod was all Steel could give in response.

“Then perhaps our salvation lies in the hands of a mortal that can march, a soldier perhaps.” The more the concept sloshed in his twisted mind, the more plausible it became.

“What of the parasite?” The first voice spoke again disregarding the Master General’s presence, his throne lowering in darkness. “He must be punished suitably.”

Malthen sat for a moment, silently working through the possibilities with clicking knuckles as his fingers drummed together with taunting rhythm. Tap. Tap. Miss. Tap. Stop. The cycle continued as his severed finger added nothing put a bridge to the final beat. With a snap, the drumming stopped as he reached a decision, one suitable enough to coat his dry, ancient face with a toothy grin.

Peering under the lip of his hood, he spoke. “We of the Order are outcasts. Banished from our world and glories, abandoned to roam this rock as the shamed. I welcome you into our punishment.”

Zipping shadows sprung from the dark corners of the chamber, cackling as they sprinted passed Steel. He rose to his feet, keeping his elbows by his ribs and cupped hands at his chin. Another phantom stalked by, ripping a sleeve from his black jacket and carrying it off into the abyss. More joined, latching their talons into the Master’s fabric and ripping it from his body.

“You, as we did, failed in your task, and thus brought your loyalty to question.” The leader continued.

“Heretic.” The others chanted as one from their thrones. More slender shadows leapt forth to free the man of his uniform, lashing violently as he was twisted in place. Even his boots were gouged from under him. “Betrayer. Mortal. Heretic. Betrayer.” And so the chorus continued, becoming audible.

“From this day until your dying breath, you are an outlaw. Starve and struggle in your exile, human!” Malthen spat, clutching the edge of his throne with an overwhelming sense of divinity. A phantom dragged the last scrap of cloth from the exile’s body, leaving him bare, hailing his aged and bloated self.

Steel’s mind was a mess, lost in a maze within his own head. He had started the day as a master of legions, now he found himself to be nothing more than an inevitable casualty of the savage world outside. His arms coupled over one another, shielding himself as his knees tucked together.

There was no way he could hide his terror as he let a high yelp escape him. A sharp, dashing talon silenced him as it ripped into his face, leaving a trail of three deep wounds in its wake. He twisted to the ground, bouncing, belly shaking as he wrapped his hands over his face. He wanted to scream and he kicked in agony, but dared not risk another assault.

“Now, mortal exile, get out!”

Slipping in his own blood, Steel dashed for the exit in panic, falling up the stairs from his platform and crashing his head into the marble. His head spun as he breathed heavily, forcing the wounds to open and close with the flex of his jaw. Cackles and howls followed him from the chamber, and as he stepped over the threshold, the phantoms engulfed him, pouncing and tugging like wild animals as he was forced to the ground.

A curling scream echoed back into the chamber as the fanged beasts snapped at his flesh and tore it away in sloppy chunks. To Malthen’s displeasure, one of his minions drew back its claws and shredded them through the exile’s windpipe, hushing his scream into a gurgling splurt of delicious blood.

The horde snatched their fill and darted back to the shadows to defend and enjoy their meat. Even through the gnawing chops which flooded the base of the chamber, Malthen grinned, ascending back into the darkness to play over his wicked schemes. He had need for a new puppet, and he would take great caution in his choosing.