Kasar and Cryppe dashed to the compound under which the slaves worked. They would have to take the frontal approach now since Rhea was not there to guide them through the tunnels. To their surprise no one guarded the compound. They expected some resistance, but none existed. Strange that they would send everyone to the manor. Down the stairs they went.

  When they reached where the cages and cells should have been brimming with poor souls, they only found bodies.

  Kasar’s jaw dropped. He staggered back. Cryppe sank to his knees. So much blood. It pooled from every slave’s body. Around him, over a hundred bodies. “No,” he sobbed. “No!”

  “What happened?” asked Cryppe, gripping his sword. “What the hell happened?”

  “You were deceived,” said a voice behind them.

  Kasar hadn’t even heard them show up. He wanted to sit in the room and mourn, but rage called him to battle again. He turned, a war burning in his eyes. He saw before him the monster who would cut a man’s tongue for saying his name wrong. The anger he felt kindled the fire in his belly.

  “Rhea was it?” asked Shaenik. He had over forty thugs with him. “She said you saved her. She said she was leaving but had no way to. She also said if I give her a way to the mainland, she’d give up all the names of those who were planning a rebellion.” Shaenik splayed his hands out to the carnage.

  Kasar and Cryppe exchanged glances. Kasar stepped forward, looking Shaenik right in the eyes. “You’re a weak bastard, Shaenik. Worth less than the sand over a camel’s shit.” The words felt like music. And the fire in his belly burned only hotter.

  Shaenik’s face twitched. “Kill them.” He turned to leave. Kasar followed. Cryppe took his flank.

  Many thugs stormed in. They simply added to the pile of corpses beside the slaves.

  Kasar could hear Shaenik sprinting away down the hall. He could taste the fear. It wasn’t something Devils could, so he was imagining it. Nonetheless, only because he wanted to, he could feel that rank, rancid breath of a coward,

  A villain.

  A butcher of innocents.

  “Shaenik!” he bellowed so all could hear. “I am going to cut your tongue!”

  Shaenik actually whimpered.

  Somewhere within the deep recesses of Kasar’s boiling mind, he recognized how quickly one’s foundational morals could shatter. How one moment of tragedy could shaken someone’s core. How devilish he acted indeed. His rage snuffed those thoughts quickly.

  “You never faced a Devil before?” Kasar’s voice echoed down the many halls. “I can be reasonable! I’ll spare your tongue unless you shout your name. Shaenik.”

  Shaenik let out an angry shout and more sellswords that had been kept out at the front of the compound in reserve rushed Kasar. “I want him hurting!” cried Shaenik. “I want him to beg.”

  “Beg?” growled Kasar. He’d left Cryppe long behind. This immense outburst enveloped him. He didn’t care that his friend wasn’t there. The enemy was. That’s all that mattered now. “You’ll all beg.” He cut through four of them like butter. The next batch spurted blood from their wounds. The batch after begged. Four of them died. The rest scrambled away. Kasar acted on impulse, hounding them down for the kill.

  “They were people,” he roared. “People!” He slashed a sellsword, crawling away. Another charged from behind. His mistake. Three wiser thugs fled in the opposite direction. Another pounced from Kasar’s rear. The aggressor didn’t expect Kasar to sense him. He lost his neck for that.

  “People!” sobbed Kasar. Flashes of death flitted through his mind. More sellswords pooled into the yard. He didn’t even remember when he’d come outside. How many stairs had he climbed and killed through? Fresh air filled his lungs. More fire burned in his belly as if fueled by the righteous violence.

  He cut through even more of them. He didn’t know how many wounds he’d earned from this offensive. He didn’t even see Shaenik anymore. “Shaenik! That’s your name!”

  Bolts and arrows flung toward him. He could see a regiment of missile infantry had lined up above a distant hill. They never found their mark. A thin shield of emerald energy reflected their arrows. So Cryppe had caught up. Perfect.

  Kasar drove on forward. Slashing felt like justice. Hacking felt like sweet nectar. Blood soaked the groves and gardens. Flowers shone red in the budding sunrise. He’d made this day bear a crimson dawn, indeed.

  “Families gone!” he roared. “They were people. People with ties. With choices.” He was sobbing. “Why would you…” He slowed as he stood amidst a graveyard, freshly assembled.

  “Help,” croaked a sellsword, hand reaching out. “Please.”

  “Those slaves…” Kasar stammered. “I shouldn’t have come here. Those people died because of me. I can’t free anyone.”

  “Please...” the sellsword begged again.

  “Those were people,” said Kasar again. His breath quickened. Pain began to cook into his mind. When had an arrow found itself into his hand? He thought Cryppe had him covered. When did so many gashes form on his chest, his back, his leg, and his shoulders. He had so much blood washed over his face that he couldn’t open his eyes to see. He wiped out the blood, but more dribbled down.

  The world spun.

  “Please help,” begged the sellsword. Kasar’s stomach threatened to curdle when he saw the guts spilled out of the man. No Green magic could save him now.

  “They were people.”

  “I…” the sellsword’s hand fell. “I need…hel…” He died there.

  “You all were too.” He saw how many of them had been trying to flee. He realized these were the missile infantry. He’d made it so far. When did this all happen? The sun rose over the estates marred in red. Now the light showed the world how brutal Kasar had been. When people strode out to see it, he’d better be gone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the dead. To the slaves he couldn’t save. To the slaves who had been moved elsewhere, chained yet again. He would have felt rage for Rhea and her betrayal, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, she’d died due to Ostrik, or Shaenik himself. He didn’t know where he was. Only that she was gone and no longer his friend.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He stood, only to fall. He tried again, only to fail.

  Then he just sobbed.

  ****

  Vorza saw a mage and a Vrodian walking down the estates. They were headed to the compound where the slaves were kept. He’d let Kasar go on without him. He didn’t need Vorza’s sorrow. He didn’t need his immorality. Vorza was a broken man from a broken time. Every step he took to mend himself, the world reminded him of how old he was. He just wanted to rest.

  It helped him cope more that he brought someone like Kasar out of the world of death and chains. Into what, however, he didn’t know. Perhaps a world that could have been if lads like Kasar existed. He reminded himself of Cryppe. Folk like him do exist. Vorza was just too shattered and stubborn to see it. Funny how harshly a glass pane like him could smash into pieces, yet how rigid his stubbornness could be.

  He didn’t even think about strategy when he cut down the mage. The sickly Vrodian beside him in shackles may not even be Sigvali. He didn’t care.

  The mage cried in pain, his hands severed down the middle in a mess of red and split fingers. Sobs wracked through him, his fire gone. He raised his gory hands and begged for mercy.

  “Countryman!” cried the Vrodian as Vorza’s sword arm rose for a killing blow. “Give him mercy. Walk the Path so he may follow.”

  “Fuck mercy,” he growled. He did not strike, however.

  “Please!” sobbed the mage. He looked so pathetic.

  “He’ll just come after us again. They always try.”

  Sigvali strode over and placed his hands forth to Vorza. “Please remove them?”

  Vorza split the shackles to free Sigvali. The Vrodian’s hand touched Vorza’s shoulder. “Let him live.”

  “I won’t come back!” said the mage. “I swear.”

  “They always try,” repeated Vorza.

  “Then you defend again,” said Sigvali. He turned to the mage. “You won’t come after us, will you Imrikas?”

  The mage shook his head. “I’ve nothing left here anymore. Not after tonight.”

  “He is a Devil. You saw how easily he cut through your magic. You didn’t even see him coming. He was made to kill mages like you. Don’t be another number added to his sorrows. Live your own life and for greater things than gold.”

  Imrikas didn’t respond. The pain was too great. He did nod, however. If only to appease Vorza.

  “He is going into shock,” said Sigvali. “We should leave before anymore come to attack us.”

  “I have to return you to Asheevi.”

  “You work for her, then? I am disappointed.”

  “I don’t want to.” He remembered Kasar’s plan. “If there is a way we can have you ship us off with you. Escape off these Isles.”

  “Us?”

  “My student. Kasar. His friend. Cryppe.”

  “I see. And this Kasar is a Devil?”

  “More than I will ever be.”

  “The Path is ever present. You must walk it so others may follow.”

  “You aren’t real,” scoffed Vorza. “How can someone of your age be so naive?”

  “Because if we all remain naive, perhaps it won’t be such a shit time.” Sigvali smiled. “I am no real Devil. I learned the Path but chose another.”

  “The Blood Maidens.”

  “Aye. I have not betrayed them. I will not. But then again, hundreds of my countrymen will die.”

  “ Any of our countrymen on this Isles?”

  “Only the cutthroats and the villains.”

  “Traitors.”

  “Alas. I can try, nonetheless. Time is short. There are many villains. All it takes is a few whispers and we’ll have daggers at our throats and shackles to follow.”

  “So stowing away is a no, then?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  Vorza’s hand twitched.

  “Brother,” said Sigvali. “You can try to kill me. You can succeed even. Perhaps you don’t because I am your way out. Or maybe the Path calls.”

  “If I kill you, I stay, but secrets are kept, and hundreds of my countrymen stay alive.”

  “Or they don’t. Why should she keep them if all fail to bring me? It is in my interest they are freed. Or perhaps, she is lying. She might just enslave them. How can you kill me and feel right in doing so?”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “I am frightened. Are you not?”

  “I am angry..”

  Sigvali nodded. “I am weak and I am tired. You will win if you attack me.” Sigvali sat down, cross legged. “Quite the fix we’re in. To save lives we’ve taken so many. To preserve what we have, go where we want, we have to take lives.”

  “Shit world.”

  “Broken one.”

  “What now?”

  “We fix it. Piece by piece.”

  “We?”

  “Duty, countryman. Duty, honor, and a passion for both.”

  “I’m old now. Such things have whittled away.” He didn’t realize it, but he had been using the Vrodian tongue all this time. “So nice to hear the mother tongue.”

  “Even better to use it. So don’t lose it.”

  “I’ll be home soon enough.”

  “Retiring?”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t believe your age has whittled anything away. You still fight. You still listened. You trained someone.”

  “He is better than I am. I fear he won’t be too long.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He throws himself into danger. Like he did now.” Vorza gasped. “He needs me. He went off alone. I should be fighting beside him.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “You will come?”

  “Why would I not?”

  Vorza helped the sickly man up and clapped his shoulders. “Thank you, brother.”

  ***

  Cryppe found Kasar kneeling before the sunrise. He’d tried to help where he could. No matter how much he yelled at his friend to stop cutting, Kasar pushed further down his warpath. A berserker rage like no other. Instead of a brutal basher, Kasar was a Dancing Devil, true to his name. Blood flooded the rooms he’d stormed down.

  In the distance, as arrows fired against Kasar, Cryppe had tried casting something to defend him. He was too far, and Cryppe wasn’t so skilled in Green shields to precisely block those arrows from that range. Eventually, he saw his friend turn the tide against even them.

  As he fought, Cryppe noticed a turn in the many halls of the compound. He had flared his Blue this whole time, and what great fortune that was.