Published: October 10th 2020, 4:58:19 pm
So this might be the beginning. It might not be. Deciding where to start things is very hard. What I can say is this I am proud of.
I did not take the time to deeply explain the magic systems at play. If you need a refresher, the past posts will help. I might write that in for future drafts, but I also don't like to hold hands for figuring things out.
Please let me know what you think.
Welcome to a small farm in a distant corner of the empire.
===================
Chapter 1 - Retirement
Well water splashed over Simsun’s face and provided a momentary reprieve from the southern heat. After hours of working the fields, this end of the day ritual was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. As the sweat that had stung his eyes was washed away, the middle-aged farmer let out a deep sigh.
Each day Simsun felt a mixture of relief and pride as the sun crept to the horizon. The relief came from the knowledge that the day's work was done. The pride from his son, Timut. Timut was now unharnessing their donkey and leading it back to the stall. The boy had not complained of the day’s labor once. He hardly ever complained at all.
Simsun’s heart broke whenever he gazed upon his son's face. Timut was the spitting image of his mother, may she rest in bliss for eternity. Those deep-set eyes and that black curly hair meant his wife lived on in their first child. Simsun had only given the boy those blue eyes and a fat nose. Both of which were considered strange here in the southern lands.
“We made one hell of a kid.” Simsun thought, still watching his son put away the day's tools in a small shed bordering a field of tall wheat.
The only concern Simsun had for the boys' future was him fathering a child too soon. The local girls already came by far too often, just harmlessly thinking the lonely widower down the road might appreciate some left over cakes or candy. Simsun would intercept the offerings whenever he could before Timut could speak and all but push the prospecting local from his property. Regardless, no matter how close an eye Simsun kept, his son would often disappear soon after and would not return till the sun was well down.
At least the habit had narrowed down to one girl this past summer. It seemed only the daughter of a farm well down the road, Jenni, had a claim on his son now. Rumors buzzed through the town of Jenni being seen chasing another farmer’s daughter down the road one day with a stick. While he hoped this had nothing to do with his son, Simsun knew better.
As Timut carefully led the donkey, which his much younger sister had named, “Stinky Stinky”, into its pin, Simsun lowered the old bucket back into the well and felt a bit of childish mischief arise within him.
Silently he removed the bucket from the well’s hook, crept up to the pin, and dumped the cool water over the bachelor's head.
Timut let out a cry of shock and whirled to face his father. “Was that really necessary?” He sputtered.
“Think of it as payment.” Simsun responded. “You worked hard today. So I cooled you off. Feel free to eat as you please tonight at dinner. As many portions as you like.”
The lad responded by replacing his look of irritation with an expression only seen on teenage boys when the prospect of food was mentioned.
“Th.. Thank you.” Timut said, shaking off the water. His slight stutter showing through. Oddly, the boy only stuttered when he was excited or happy. Whenever he was in trouble and arguing with his father or sister, Timut spoke with the clarity of a well educated noble.
“But was the water REALLY necessary?” Timut let out an exasperated sigh, but a smile still split his cheeks.
These small moments of play between father and son were something Simsun cherished dearly. There was little life for a teenager working the fields, and he hoped the love he had for his family was enough for his children. Affection and love of family was all any of them had for weeks on end out here in one of the most remote corners of the empire.
“For the sacred initiation of work well done? Absolutely!” The last word he nearly yelled with enthusiasm. He gestured over to their small wooden house. “Also, your sister had been complaining of your stink again.” Simsun gripped his nose, letting his voice turn to a nasally squawk. “You really must wash more.”
“The little girl who plays in the mud wants to call me smelly?” Timut seemed genuinely annoyed at the comment.
Simsun felt a tinge of guilt. It was impossible to properly watch over the girl while getting the day's work done. She was left unattended far too much as a result. Snuffing out the feeling he replied, “Should tell you how bad the problem really is.”
Timut simply grunted in response and began walking back toward the farmhouse. He only made it two steps before freezing in place.
“Father, look!”
Following his son’s gaze, Simsun looked past the fields and spotted the roof of an imperial carriage coming down the flat dirt road.
Simsun grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him down hard, and dropped to one knee, forcing Timut to do the same. The boy looked at him with fear, but Simsun did not bother removing any of his own from his voice, “Your sister is in the west field playing with the rabbits. Stay low, get to her, and head to the Mcraddle farm. Hide in their fields and do not let them know you are there. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Simsun brought his son into an embrace and said, “This is what I warned you of. I love you. GO!”
The boy paused only long enough to meet his eyes and say, “I love you too,” before disappearing into their fields behind the pin. After only a few sounds of rustling, the boy had completely vanished. Simsun had passed on a good deal of his own military training to his son for a situation just like this.
Simsun had prepped both of his children for this eventuality. The wars may have been over, but there was no way the Imperials would let Simsun the Slayer remain in peaceful retirement forever.
Simsun stood back to his full height and walked towards his home. A home he knew would break today.
+++
As the carriage reached his front porch, Simsun came back out from his family home, now having slipped on the vest and gauntlets of his thick Grip armor; as well as tucking a revolver into the back of his trousers. A brazen move of aggression toward the Imperials paying him a visit, but there was no way Simsun would begin this meeting without them.
Three men in Red Guard uniforms stepped down from the horse drawn carriage. Two low ranking soldiers lacking even officers sashes with rifles slung over their backs and an officer with no discernable weapons aside from a pistol strapped to his thigh.
When the officer met his eyes, he raised his arms and exclaimed, “You must be Simsun Brit, or, more properly, Simsun The Slayer!” He began to walk towards the family home. “It is a great honor to meet you. A legend in the flesh!” He emphasized the word legend and stuck out his hand for a shake. Simsun took the man's hand and met his eyes, trying to gauge his purpose for being here.
The question must have been painted on his face because the officer continued, “We are very sorry to be coming to you without warning in this way, but we had concerns.” The officer stepped onto the porch, but still stood several inches shorter. His voice dropped to a sly whisper as he said, “May we come inside and discuss business of a certain nature.” The officer's voice hit the ear like silk over a knife.
The combination of the officer’s minty breath and high accent already brought a flood of memories back to Simsun. Imperial officers sitting clean and proud atop dressed up horses ordering soldiers into fields already soaked in the blood of the dead. Civilians caught in the crossfire screaming as their homes burned around them. Grips like himself being ordered to collapse buildings on those trying to set up some form of fortification or resistance.
Simsun did not break eye contact with the man. “I do not let anyone into my home whose name I do not know.”
“Of course!” The officer slapped his own forehead and gave his own men a humorous look. “How rude of me.” He gestured to the two soldiers. “The blonde woman on the left is Syd, a new initiate of the Red Guard, and may I say, eager to prove herself.” He dropped his voice once again as the woman nodded acknowledging the introduction. “Maybe a bit too trigger happy for my taste.”
Raising his voice again, “The rather broad fellow on her right is Rigkit. At my personal request he follows me everywhere. I trust him like a brother.” The man nodded.
Both soldiers were impressive. All members of the Red Guard were. Simsun wondered if, even in this time of supposed peace, the Red Guard kept up their extreme training measures. Probably. Almost every member of the Red Guard he had ever met took pride in the extremes they forced their bodies to endure. They may die young as a result, but they would die proud.
“And I am Sergeant Major Tithy.” The officer said taking in the fields surrounding the house. “You and I were both at the siege of Cribble I believe.” Tithy tried to clasp his shoulder but Simsun pivoted. Officer Tithy did not even acknowledge the slight. He just continued speaking and let his hand fall. “The Grips did masterful work to my recollection. A whole city gate pulled down. Remarkable service to the empire by any standard.” The officer gestured as if recalling a masterful piece of art. “The air vibrated with the Grohalind that day. A few soldiers caught the sickness, but in the end” he rotated his hand in the air as if weighing something, “a cost worth paying.” He clapped Simsun on the back too quick for him to react, “Consider me an admirer.” The officer turned toward the house, “Now if we may?”
Simsun remembered the days of siege clearly. Impatient for victory, on the fifth day, General Comdat ordered all Grips to ignite and attack with extreme prejudice. Not only were the gates pulled down, but dozens of Grips died due to being forced to ignite in an effort to pull down the gates. His own recovery had taken weeks. Thousands of soldiers and hundreds of civilians had either been permanently harmed by the waves of Grohalind burnt off during the ensuing chaos or died straight away. The poison had been so thick in the air, it had literally shimmered with it.
The sight of a child screaming as it bled from its pores and watched its own flesh begin to peel had never truly left his eyes.
+++
As they sat at the family table Simsun had made with his son, Sergeant Major Tithy looked around the tiny home with fascination. The only other room was where all three occupants of the home slept. The two soldiers had done a sweep of the meager living space, and even they seemed surprised their job had been so easy.
The officer finally locked eyes with Simsun and said, “Well, now I must say I am more than just an admirer Slayer. Your service in the battlefield was legendary and in your retirement you could have asked the empire for much. A whole palace to yourself.” Tithy leaned back in his chair and took on a tone of reverence, “Instead, you ask nothing of those you gave your service to and have worked imperial land continuing to provide food for the cause.”
Tithy grabbed the wrist of Syd who, due to the size of the room could not stand out of reach if she wanted to. “This man is an example of a true patriot!”
Syd nodded in agreement and continued to stare at Simsun, her hand never leaving the pistol at her side.
Simsun took a drink from the water he had poured for himself, taking his time to drink his fill and gently place the mug back onto the table. “Please do not call me that.”
Tithy scoffed, “What? A patriot? How could you even deny...”
“Slayer.”
“Ah..” Tithy made a show of pondering for a moment and said, “There is an unfortunate truth where the stories of war will glorify the experiences many of us had. The monikers thrust upon us do not always reflect an individual's true soul or intent, no?”
The mood of the room had changed and Tithy leaned in. “You know why I am here. While the wars have been won at home, other lands must be brought into line. Reports of islands filled with savages off the north coast have been confirmed true. It is our duty to bring these people enlightenment and freedom!” The last words were said with a vile twist of passion and venom.
Simsun stared down at his mug of water. Three years ago he had walked away from his service. Every day that had gone by since, he had come to hate himself for what he had done more. Thousands died at his hands. Dozens of grips who had rebelled were killed by him. He wished he had joined them, no matter how hopeless their fight. At least they stood for what was known and true. Not this regime of forced promises.
Returning home years ago, he had found a sick wife and children he barely knew. Simsun had refused his imperial rewards and blood money. This farm was his penance and the greatest gift he could give Timut and Sylli was to distance them from the imperial educators.
“No.”
The word hung in the air. Rigkit unslung his rifle and went as far as to flip out the loading mechanism and chamber a round. Syd only placed her hand on her side arm and cocked back the revolvers hammer.
Tithy raised his hand and the soldiers relaxed. “That really is not an option here, Slayer” The emphasis he placed on the last word seemed to be trying to remind Simsun of his position. It was the wrong thing to do.
The officer reached his hand across and tried to lay it on Simsun’s wrist who jerked away and stood, sending his chair skittering across the ground. The two soldiers brought their rifles to attention and leveled them at Simsun, Syd’s only coming up a fraction of a second behind her partners.
He met their eyes and brought himself up to his full two meter height. Simsun had never lost the muscle he had put on while being a Grip. His presence caused even the hardest men to doubt their abilities. That was without his reputation as the greatest Grip to ever serve. “Careful what words you choose in these next moments.” For the first time in years he let the Grohalind enter his body and the entire world seemed to snap into an unnatural focus. Using the smallest amount of energy required, he tied three knives from the counter behind him to the counter below, causing them to hover, pointed directly at the soldiers. The blades did not waver in the slightest. A level of balance and precision only the greatest grips could accomplish. “They may be your last.”
True to their training, neither of the Red Guard even blinked at the threat. Tithy had hardly reacted at all.
Now, the officer slowly stood and even tucked his chair back under the table. Letting out a sigh, he said, “I ask you one time, for the sake of your children, please reconsider.”
Something was wrong. No two soldiers, even of the red guard, stood a chance against an average Grip, and Simsun was arguably the greatest. The shallow threat of his children was meaningless with them now well away from the farm. Nevertheless, a pit formed in his stomach.
Not letting any of his uncertainty into his voice, he said, “And why would I do that?”
“Avi.” The word left the officers mouth no louder than anything he said previously, but as soon as he did, the front door to the house slowly opened.
Avi Cormick, The Fist of God, The Butcher of Battles, an Anointed, entered his house with both of his children. No emotion was visible on her face. She was calm. One hand resting on each of his children’s shoulders. Timut was pale in the face and visibly shaking. Blood ran down the boy's head. Sylli had tears running from her brown eyes down her face. She clung to one of the field rabbits as if it were her stuffed nighttime toy. The girl’s grey dress was stained with dirt as always. The only movement from the rabbit came from Sylli’s trembling. Even the animal was paralized in fear.
“You fucking…”
“Are you a traitor, Slayer?” Avi’s voice was soft, and nearly comforting. Yet it cut the air with a force that could not be ignored. Her hand slid under his daughter's chin as she wiped away a tear on Sylli’s cheek.
Tithy walked to the door and stepped outside. The sound of his boots seemed far too loud for the smaller man, He had been simply a mouthpiece for Avi. His purpose was done.
Desperation seeped into Simsun’s mind. Watching Avi’s hand, the hand that had ended more lives than any other for the God King, resting on his daughter's pale skin drove him mad. Simsun created a tie between the two soldiers and Avi. They would feel nothing of course until he pushed the Grohalind into it, and he was prepared to exert enough force to send all three of them through the walls of his house.
“Get your hands off of my children.” Simsun used a simple tie between the chair behind him and the roof to place it back on its feet. “We can talk.” As he released the tie the chair dropped slightly to the floor.
An insincere frown appeared on Avi’s face. “Why did you not answer my question, Sim?” She said, her voice still a soft venom. The Annointed’s hand tightened on his son's shoulder. Timut let out a whimper and clearly tried to pull away. Of course, he could not break free.
He did not dare send a push into that tie now, Avi would simply bring his children with her and, without question, kill them before he could react. Changing plans, he created a tie between each of Avi’s hands and the support beams of the roof above. He shifted the existing tie from between Avi and the soldiers to just between the two still leveling rifles at him.
“I am not a traitor.”
“Hmm…” Avi’s faux frown deepened. “For some reason I don’t believe you.”
Simsun saw the intent in Avi’s eyes before she even moved. A look of joy and rage twisted her previously expressionless face as she closed her fist on Timut’s shoulder. Bone crunched and blood sprayed out covering both Avi and Sylli. His daughter screamed as her brother’s blood splashed against her face.
“NO!” He cried out, but he stopped himself from pushing any of the Grohalind into any of his ties. He needed to avoid this fight as long as he could.
While his son initially shrieked, quickly shocked took over and the boy began only emitted a rattling gasps.
Hope of a peaceful resolution had left Simsun the moment Avi had entered his house. There was a reason she had come to recruit him. Avi wanted to try herself against him. A continual debate never left the soldiers who served the empire. Constantly they argued whether or not the strongest Grips could take down various members of the Anointed. With each of the Anointed having different powers given to them, it really was something that depended on the skill level of the Grip and the power of the one chosen by god.
He and Avi were one of the most hotly debated hypothetical fights. Something Avi, repeatedly had made known during the wars she wanted to put to the test. A challenge Simsun had gladly avoided for years. While he was the unchallenged champion of the Grips and known for having the ability to burn with greater dexterity than just about anyone who wore the armor, he was not an idiot. Avi was the greatest killer the empire had ever produced.
She had that reputation while still never revealing her true gift. It was considered the greatest mystery in the entire empire. What could Avi do and why did she hide it?
Avi had come here to finally put the debate to rest. Once she heard of his isolation, she must have known his heart. This was a trap.
Timut collapsed to his knees and put a hand to his gushing wound. He would bleed out in a matter of minutes.
“Please for the love of the one you serve, let my children go. They have no part in this.”
Avi let out another long, “Hmmm… I serve? Not, we serve?” Before casually resting both of her hands on his Sylli’s shoulders. “How about instead, you show me you’re still worth my time.” She nodded towards the guards.
A look of confusion came across both of the Red Hand’s faces, but Simsun needed no further instruction to do something, anything, to bring the odds more in his favor.
In the span of half a breath, Simsun tied the two leveling rifles at him together, letting his link be loose and envelop their clothing, weapons, and even ammo belts, and flooded the bond with as much of the Grohalind as he could stream through himself. The energy within him flared and died in a heartbeat. Even though the soldiers stood little more than a foot apart, they collided with such great force that gore exploded in all directions. Sylli let out a shriek as bits of bone and flesh landed on her. Avi let a painting of blood hit her face and aside from a blink, did not respond to the violence.
“Well, that is impressive.” She said. The Anointed put a hand on Sylli’s chin and pointed her face at the twisted bloody remains of the Reds, now nothing more than a pile of gore. “Look what daddy did.” She whispered in the girl’s ear.
“Please.” Simsun said. He tried to hide his desperation, but he knew it came through in his voice. Creating a large tie from a cannonball hidden within the workings of his roof to the floor angled directly behind Avi’s chest. He prepared to do whatever he could to save his children. If there was any hope for his son, it would soon be gone. “Let them go.”
Avi looked to Sylli. “She is a beautiful girl, Sim.” Avi moved to wipe some of the blood from his daughter’s face.
Sylli flinched and dropped the rabbit still clutched in her arms.
That simple drop signaled a start and both Avi and Simsun knew it.
The tie pulsed with energy as Simsun threw his internal fire into it. It was everything he could muster. A pull strong enough to cause the floor itself to crack as the steel ball the size of a man’s head was yanked from a hiding place above. The cannonball was drawn to its destination with such force, the floorboards behind Avi let out a deafening crack as they split and came upwards.
Simsun knew his aim was true. The ball would slam into Avi’s right shoulder missing his daughter by mere inches. But Avi was faster than him. She was faster than even the Grohalind’s flair.
A soft snapping sound hit Simsun’s ear.
Simsun shrieked as the ball struck Avi. The projectile moved so quickly, even with its larger size, it would have passed clean through most. Avi Cormick was not most. Another louder and more nauseating sound pierced the air. Avi flew back into the far wall; exploding through it and out into the fields beyond.
Simsun fell to his knees.
Shock consumed him. He felt a numb flood his body and mind. The sins of his past were here, standing before him. That was all that was happening. Avi Cormick, the Hand of God, was bringing justice for all those he had slain. He just wished his children had been able to escape the flood of death his service brought.The flood of death he always brought.
Out of the corner of his eye, Simsun noticed the bunny Sylli had brought in with her. The creature was desperately trying to worm its way through the small space under the door.
He crawled to his children’s bodies. Timut’s eyes were glossed over and blood had stopped pouring from his ruined shoulder. As he brought Sylli’s limp body into his lap, her head lulled unnaturally back. His stomach convulsed at the sight and he looked at the new human sized hole in his wall.
Breaking his eyes away from the bodies of his children helped shake away some of the fog in his brain. While he still felt numb, a fire lit in the fog. He had not released the Grohalind. In fact, he was pouring energy through his body out into the air around him with no purpose. A constant wave of deadly poison even his armor could not contain emanated from Simsun into his house. Enough to make his whole farm uninhabitable for a substantial period of time.
He would not give Avi the fight she wanted. This would not be combat. This fact set in his brain firmer than any concrete. What he would do would be considered a murder.
+++
Stepping from the hole in the side of his house, Simsun saw officer Tithy riding away on the carriage. He had not gotten too far down the road. The imperial must have only begun to flee after seeing the unbreakable Anointed rag dolled out from the house. A mistake that would cost the man his life.
Simsun lashed a tie to several more balls he had hidden underneath his house. He connected the ties to trees on the opposite side of the fleaing carriage and pushed more of his fire into the lines. His house began to collapse as cannon balls were ripped through it.
Turning his head away before the projectiles even struck, Simsun began to look for his victim. He did not have to look hard as a pathway of ruined crops led straight to Avi, just now beginning to stand and clutching a clearly damaged shoulder.
She tried to speak, but was cut off by the sounds of the carriage exploding into fragments. Tithy was dead.
Avi refocused on him and said, “Now..”
Simsun allowed her no more words.
As he walked towards his victim, a half dozen more cannonballs hidden around the property were already careening towards the Anointed. Each one hit her with the force equal to or greater than the first. Her head violently snapped back as Simsun successfully arched one ball off another to try and decapitate the bitch.
Knowing he would need more to finish this, Simsun pulled one of the nastiest tricks his service had ever taught him. Simsun tied two cannonballs together with the center of the link right above the pulverized woman.
The projectiles met and shrapnel sprayed out in every direction. Simsun sucked his head behind his still gauntleted hand as he was now well within five meters of his target. Avi actually let out a cry as Simsun repeated the attack with the four remaining.
During all of this, Avi had continued to try and regain her footing repeatedly, but only now, with blood of her own finally mixing with that of his children did he allow her to stand.
“Fuck.” Avi said, then spit blood to the side.
“A fitting last word.” Simsun said. A Grip could not tie to living flesh, this is true; it was impossible to manipulate something with a soul. Even with the soldiers he brought together only moments before he needed to use a trick of spreading out his tie to consume their clothing, weapons, and ammo. It was amazing how much force you could exert on a person doing that. But that would not be enough for Avi.
Bits of steel stuck out from her body in every which way. Her face, shoulders, chest, arms, stomach, he tied all of it. A complex web of ties all passing through her to other shards of shrapnel on opposite ends of her body. Avi Cormick healed quickly, faster than any of the rest of her kind. That was one of the few things widely known about her. Already he could see her skin closing around the steel fragments.
That will be your downfall today you cunt
Simsin did not flair the energy he drew for these ties and let it die. He ignited every ounce of power he had and kept it burning, pushing all of his might into the ties criss-crossing the murder of his boy and girl.
Too late Avi looked down at the damage done to her and realized what he was doing. She tried to lift an arm, to do what he was unsure of, but it was quickly drawn to her side by the shrapnel trying to come together. Simsun heard the sounds of bones cracking as the pieces of steel strained to meet through her enforced being. A few of the smaller bits of cannonball simply ripped though meat and Simsun began to pull those larger reformed chunks into other bits of steel he had tied. The result was that after a few moments, nearly all of the shrapnel was pulling in on itself, only resisted by the Anointed’s bones. He was trying to crush her very frame.
He had never stopped his advance and now put his hand on the shoulder of the woman who took everything from him.
The power within the ties pulling Avi in on herself was immense. It was the greatest amount of force Simsun had ever brought into a sustained effort. He felt his body beginning to rot from the energy pulsing through him. Avi herself was also showing signs of the poisoning just from standing so close to him. The blood running from her eyes and pours made that all to clear.
The burn within him began to convulse as he refused to let it go. The poison of the Grohalind was so great within him now that there was no coming back. Today was his death. All of his years of carefully limiting how much he burned had built up a desire within to burn it all. This desire had laid unnoticed until now, but today, as he felt blood begin to spill from his own eyes, nose, and ears, there was a twisted relief in finally letting himself be consumed by the fire.
Avi kept trying to resist, but with tendons and muscles shredded, she could only collapse to one knee.
A strange thought popped into Simsun’s head. I finally know what my true potential is. I can kill Avi Cormick. It will just cost me my life. He knew this to be true as he felt even the largest chunks being dragged further inside Avi begin to warp slightly as her bones finally gave.
With one final scream, Avi’s body broke. Several bones gave at once, and Avi went from awkwardly bent, trying to resist the pulling within her own body, to a crumpled mess on the ground.
Simsun let himself crumple to his knees.
There was no relief. Mentally and physically, he was destroyed. As he vomited blood onto the ground before him, Simsun felt no different after killing Avi. Maybe a tinge of joy knowing his children’s killer would not walk away from his farm, but overwhelming sorrow hit him like a hammer. The emotional pain of his loss and physical pain of his body deteriorating consumed his entire existence.
For several seconds he let himself feel his failures and weep. He had failed to save his children. He had failed to protect his home. He had failed to resist the empire. He had failed to do the right thing at every turn in his life. The cost had been his everything. Now, more would die as a result of what he had done here today.
The poison within him would be released once he passed. It would fill the air for kilometers around. His neighbors would investigate what had happened and unknowingly walk into their deaths. Timut’s little girlfriend might even come by today. If she did, with the ramifications of his igniting in the air, she would be dead before she got home.
He would be dead in a matter of minutes. There was nothing he could do.
Simsun let himself feel the weight of his actions. He wailed in pain and he pounded the dirt with what little strength he had left.
The well.
The thought hit him and he felt an idiot. One of the few ways to lesson the spread of a Grohalind cloud was the smother release in something. If he threw himself down the well, his farm would still be a toxic disaster, but the surrounding area might be saved from the absolute worst of it.
Slowly, Simsun picked his head up and climbed back to his hands and knees. The well was maybe thirty meters away. He knew he had the strength to get there. He just had to move.
The Grohalind was clouding his mind. His vision was going and so much blood covered what he could see. Several moments passed of him crawling desperately for… something.
The well. He knew he had to get to the well and throw himself in. A faint laugh touched his ear. Sylli? No he must be hallucinating. She was dead. Oh god she’s dead and it’s my fault.
Simsun continued to make his way towards his grave.
Timut was such a good boy. Strong and kind. Smarter than me or his mother. He was destined for great things.
After several more moments of thinking over his family, Simsun realized he had stopped crawling and was just weeping over his loss.
No, think you fool. Save who you can. MOVE!
He made it several more meters before a hand touched his shoulder. Timut?
The hand was far too rough to be his son. Instead of a comforting caress. Simsun was pulled around to land harshly on his back. Facing upwards, blood quickly began to pool in his mouth and eyes. Funnily enough, he couldn’t even think where it was coming from. The remaining bits of vision he possessed made out a female figure standing over him. Simsun thought of his wife.
+++
Avi Cormick, soaked in blood, but reformed reached down and picked up the ruined man. It had shaken her to be beaten so badly. Never before had her body taken so much damage. She had felt helpless as this traitor had stood over her. Bending and breaking her from the inside. Flashes of a grenade exploding next to her face in battle shot into her mind. The injury that had earned her this position.
How dare he do this to her.
She pulled his face to hers. “Is there even enough of you left in there to see me idiot? How could you do something so reckless. You neighbors will die now. This whole valley will be one of death. The empire will have to quarantine it all!”
Simsun’s head simply rolled back staring up at the darkening sky.
Avi let out a long breath and dropped the man to the ground. “You did not beat me.” The words felt false even as they left her mouth.
From the way he crumpled, she figured he was probably already dead. The burn he had put out would take down a small army. She had only ever felt such levels of energy in the air during sieges where dozens of Grips had sunken deep into their own sickness. “Though you earned your title, Butcher. I will give you that.” For the first time in years, Avi felt tired. Not physically, but mentally.
When the girl’s neck snapped in Avi’s hand, something had been off. A kind of wrongness had pushed unwelcome into her gut. Emotions roiled within her, but as always, they quickly seeped away.
Avi turned from the man she had admired so greatly. Simsun had been one of her role models before she was Anointed. On the battlefield he was a terror and it could be argued his efforts were the turning points in several battles. Now he lay ruined in a pathetic farm in the middle of nowhere.
The silence and peace of this land felt terribly at odds with the events that just occurred and the deadly poison now filling the air.
She looked over to the road, “You even destroyed my way home.” Now, a long few days of moving through the woods to the nearest respectable city lay ahead of her.
A slight sound came from the ground behind her. It was somewhere between a cough and a gasp. Looking at the ruined Grip, Avi saw he was gazing at her. She smiled in return.
“You want to know how, don’t you?” Avi asked. They all always wanted to know.
Simsun did not make any response. From how still he was, that noise might have just been a death rattle.
“Here” a thin line began to spread from the tip of her middle finger down her arm, “I will show you what I am. You’ve earned it.”