“This isn’t a fucking social call, Seviène.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s near. I want his blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Both moons hung high in the sky, bathing the mountainous grove in a silver glow which only added to the grandeur of the ancient elms. A gentle, cloudless rain had been pitter-pattering idyllically against the leaves for nearly an hour, melting away the snow and heralding the coming of spring.

Ortho Valen quietly crept betwixt the trees, carefully avoiding that crunch or crack which might be heard. Reaching the tree-line, he crouched near some underbrush. The moonlight illuminated his handsome face and raven-black hair, but also revealed the sickly purple haze which clung to his eyes underneath his worn, black tricorne.

The chalet was finally in sight.

The young Accusaré Dux studied the dilapidated wooden structure. It had clearly not been maintained in many years, but a flickering light dancing against its frosted windows and smoke gently billowing from the chimney revealed that it had not been abandoned.

Careful by nature, Ortho motionlessly observed the property, looking for any sign of a trap. Satisfied after several minutes that there was none, he continued forward. Drawing his flintlock pistol, he whispered an incantation in an alien tongue and his dark long-coat became shadow itself. He sprinted with all speed across the open courtyard lest he be spotted, his boots making no sound against the baroque brickwork.

Reaching the porch, he transitioned from sprinting to stalking, careful to not make any sounds against the aging wood. The third plank up betrayed him, dully creaking as the step adjusted to his weight. He stopped completely, not even breathing as he held his pistol at the ready. An eternity seemed to pass, but there was no reciprocating sound or movement. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the ornately carved mahogany entrance door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His every breath is an affront to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kicking down the door, he burst inside. He was momentarily surprised by how warm and cozy the interior was in comparison to its rundown exterior. Seviène Gaston was sitting by the fireplace, reading a tome underneath candlelight. The veteran war-captain still wore his old uniform coat, but he had aged since the last time Ortho had seen him. Once the preeminent duelist in the king's guard, the elder warrior's thick, stylish beard was now streaked with grey and wrinkles bearing the burdens of the realm now hung from his face. What hadn’t changed was the same immovability which had always girded his golden eyes.

“I was wondering when you would find me,” Seviène said, barely looking up.

Ortho immediately trained his pistol upon his old mentor. “Don’t try anything. Even you could not weave a shot at this distance.”

“Of course not,” Seviène said, chuckling. “I was about to pour myself a glass of wine. Would you like one?”

“No,” Ortho replied coldly. He pulled a pouch off his belt and set it down upon the counter. It hit the granite top with a thud far greater than a pouch of that size should have made.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Seviène said, not paying the pouch any attention. He stood up and began pouring a glass of ruby red Cabernet into a simple mug. “How have you been, Ortho?”

“This isn’t a fucking social call, Seviène.”

“Well, you haven’t tried to kill me yet,” he replied, taking a sip from his glass. “I assume that means we are surrounded by the Inquistitarius?”

“No.” Ortho said, glaring. “I wanted to talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did not send you here to talk. Kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ortho squeezed his eyes, blocking the intrusive thought. Seviène raised a grey eyebrow. “Oh? I suppose I should thank you for sparing me their flaying knives.”

“Where are they?” Ortho growled, ignoring the quip.

“Who?”

“Do not fuck with me! You know who I’m talking about.” His knuckles gripping his pistol had turned white.

“Oh, the King?” asked the captain, smiling. “He is already gone, across the channel and raising an army, I assume. Your boys are rather sloppy. I thought I taught you better.”

The Accusaré swore in a rage, flipping a nearby table. “Do not patronize me!” he spat.

“Considering the entire graveyards you have filled,” said Seviène, an edge coming into his voice, “I think you can deal with it.”

Ortho did not respond, but steadied his breathing and began to walk around, studying the open room.

“Why are you really here, Ortho?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He has defied me. The only penalty is death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ortho’s head jerked. Seviène watched him intently, pulling out a pipe and lighting it. Ortho paced the length of the room, and then turned back to face Seviène.

“To give you one last chance to submit. The rest of the Order has already pledged fealty. Those of the Upper Court who have not already bent the knee have been slaughtered. High Seer Ulana’s victory is complete and your accursed king cannot stop what has already started. A new dawn rises over Illystria.”

“The Ordus Protectorate may have forgotten its charge, but its captain has not,” replied Seviène, glaring at the Accusaré. “Your honor may mean nothing to you, traitor, but it still matters to me.”

“Your honor be damned!” Ortho exploded. “You know better than anyone of the threats that mankind faces. The monstrosities that lie beyond the wastes capable of slaughtering entire companies of men? We are fighting a war we cannot win. Why have we denied ourselves this fathomless power?”

“Do you hear yourself? Because you fear what lies in the wastes, you would betray your own people and enslave them to the dark powers that lurk within the Aetherium?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have given you power. The price was fair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ortho spat in anger. “The seers peered into the Aetherium and saw our coming doom. We only did what the king lacked the strength and courage to do. You know as well as I that blood must be spilled to achieve victory.”

“Victory? I wonder whose?” ruminated Seviène. “Your seers rejected the warnings of the Ancients, gazing into that which should never have been opened. The fools begged to be deceived all the while calling themselves wise. And the things which you let in have not given you strength, but cruelty, a cruelty which you now inflict upon your people.”

“What the hell would you know about it?” screamed Ortho, his features contorted in rage.

“I know that you’ve changed, that the light which once illuminated your eyes is now gone,” replied Seviène sadly. “Gone and replaced with the fathomless darkness of the Aetherium. If you do not turn from this, it will drag you to your death.”

~~~~~~~~~

ENOUGH!

~~~~~~~~~

“ENOUGH!” screamed Ortho, cocking his pistol and aiming it at Seviène one final time. “It is time to choose!”

Walking over to the counter, the Accusaré threw his hand into his pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a black stone of some sort. Rather than reflecting light, it seemed to absorb it, reflecting darkness instead. Seviène could hear the whispers of the Aetherium and knew that evil was near.

“Swear fealty before the seers. Kiss this stone, or I swear I shall sever your head from your shoulders and it will be the last thing your king will see before I kill him too.” The bright and promising eyes which Seviène had known were gone, replaced with black orbs of hatred.

“You know I will not. Take your filthy toy and be gone,” Seviène growled, his weight shifting to his feet ever so slightly.

“I should have known…”

Seviène did not wait for him to finish the sentence. Grabbing the wine bottle, he hurled it at Ortho’s face with all of his might. It struck the Accusaré true, staggered him backward. Blindly aiming, Ortho fired, but Seviène was already on his feet. Unscathed, he tackled Ortho through the bay window and the two smashed into the courtyard outside. Seviène rolled to his feet lithely. Ortho hopped up, shrugging off the blow.

The captain flourished his hands and a fiery portal appeared before him, from which he pulled a great flaming sword. His eyes too seemingly had become flame and a faint halo hovered over his head. “Though I stand against the horrors of this present darkness, my hands shall not falter,” he repeated to himself.

~~~~~~

KILL!

~~~~~~

“KILL!” screamed Ortho. He spoke another incantation and his chest seemed to blink, shadowy lids pulling back his flesh to reveal a large staring eye where his heart should have been. He plunged his hand deep into the eye and pulled out of it a dark spear, one sickly black and reeking of death.

The two lunged at each other. Ortho attempted to skewer the captain with an opening coup de grâce. Seviène, for his part, deftly parried the thrust and smashed Ortho in the face with the hilt of his sword.

Ortho staggered backward before leaping into the attack, spinning into a slash meant to take the old warrior's head. Again, Seviène skillfully blocked the cut before going on the offensive. Seviène was much stronger and quicker than his age belied, but Ortho fought with an inhuman ferocity, each strike meant to be a killing blow.

Ortho leapt back and ran the spearhead along his hand. Blood gushed from the wound, covering the blade. The spear became darkness itself.

Seviène shifted his weight, reading himself for the attack.

Pulling the spear back for this final attack, Ortho leapt in the air. Seviène stood firmly and held his offhand high. As the spear came swinging down, an explosion of light emanated from the captain’s palm, washing the entire courtyard away in a brilliant light.

When Ortho’s sight came back, there stood the old war-captain immovable, his blade firmly lodged in the Accusaré’s chest. For a moment, the lie was broken. Ortho burst into tears as his life began to fade away.

“Goodbye, Ortho,” said Seviène angrily. Withdrawing his sword, he flicked the black filth off of it.

Ortho tried to speak, but couldn’t, choking up black bile. Tears streamed down his face as the sickening cracks of breaking bones could be heard, his body seemingly contorting of its own will. His limbs began to grow several lengths, bending unnaturally. The darkness from the maw in his chest spread over the rest of his body and he hovered above the ground. Ortho’s choking became the guttural laughing of something else entirely as hundreds of eyes and long dark tendrils sprouted from the corpse. The monstrous figure continued to grow until it towered over Seviène

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He long resisted my ascension. I must thank you for heralding me back to this plane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seviène did not respond, but immediately attacked.

Rushing forward, he whirled his greatsword, making a massive flaming cut. The creature tried to parry, but it had not yet grown into its strength and the war-captain, his fiery eyes burning with righteous rage, was too quick. The sword cut straight through the creature's shoulder and the elongated limb fell to the ground still holding its spear.

Dodging the screaming creature’s remaining tendrilled arm, Seviène rushed forward once again. The blade spun. Carving through its torso, he lodged the blade deep into the chest-eye and the monster shrieked before falling to the ground.

“What's your name, demon?” roared Seviène.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am Tyranny. This is my world. Bow to me and I shall give it to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though the creature’s words were confident, its mass of remaining eyes refused to look at the captain.

“Look me in the face!” Seviène thundered.

A few of the eyes finally settled on him.

“Your lies may have stolen this young man's life, and you may have killed many others, but this is not your world,” he proclaimed. “My king has sounded the war trumpet, and we are marching back in vengeance. We will reclaim the city and drive your kind from this world. Then, the new dawn will truly rise.”

The sword came down a final time before Tyranny could answer.