The Princess of Wrath

Echoes from the Past - The Gray Death, Part IX: Genocide

"You cannot die!"

Lost in the dark, Lucy listened to the echoes of a nearby past. A very young and feminine voice, and a masculine and guttural voice.

"If you want to embrace the darkness of death... Then become what you desire. By walking the path of the Wraith, you will."

Between the voices, she heard a new sound in the distance, unknown, that began to reverberate incessantly, with increasing power with each iteration. Unable to locate herself in space and time, the young apprentice felt as if she had awakened from a dream, the product of that powerful echo.

In addition to that curious sound, she felt the earth painfully tremble beneath hers, letting her know that she was kneeling. Her legs did not respond, victims of extreme fatigue and cramps from having been in that position for a long time.

"Master?" she called by default, unable to remember the last time she saw him. "I-I can't..."

She could not move her arms either: they were bound in chains behind her back, so tight that she felt the cold contact of metal against her numb and bruised forearms.

"Get up!" she heard someone scream through the echoes and, in pain, she was forced to her feet when she felt her being taken from her arms and pulled upward. Her legs burned with agony, unable to support her weight. "Walk!"

There was not much distance to shorten, but each step was torture for Lucy. She had already lost count of the days she spent without eating, without drinking and without having the slightest notion of where she was.

Her legs gave out when the person who forced her to walk stopped her and this time she felt with extreme pain the uneven, rock-hard terrain beneath her knees.

From one second to another, the light of day exploded in her eyes as they were freed from what kept them in the dark.

"NO! My face!" It was the first primordial thought that arose in her brain, fearing that her face had been exposed. She was unable to move her arms to cover and protect herself from daylight, but at no point did she feel the cool touch of the air more than in her eyes. Then she became aware of the familiar chill of porcelain against her skin and it was there that she could sigh in relief. "Thank the Gods... I have my face..."

But her newfound tranquility was not going to last her long. It took a few seconds for her vision to clear, being able to see the red earth floor below her and, almost a meter later, the edge of a precipice.

That fact made her come out of her calm slumber with violence and her senses were fully awakened, making the young apprentice see the origin of those powerful and rumbling sounds: hundreds of meters below, the earth was covered by an army of thousands of soldiers distributed in regiments with specific functionalities, such as spearmen with defense shields, hybrid infantry, riflemen and specialists.

There were also armored war trolls carrying drums or armed with great hammers, and, surprising Lucy even more, tall and intimidating mercenaries belonging to the amphibious race of the Ishkal, armed only with their scaly six-fingered hands capable of producing deadly toxins.

But what radically changed Lucy's perspective of the army was the shrill war horn that resounded above the drums and war chants: it was the lament of the ancient Emperor Fingol, used only when Imperial armies besieged a doomed territory, whether due to extreme famine, government collapse...or massive outbreaks.

"Majestic, isn't it?" The person who had forcibly led her there passed by her, blocked by Belrus's warm fervor and stopped at the edge of the precipice: she raised a hand and instantly all sound produced by the army was extinguished. "Fifteen thousand soldiers, a tiny part of the Imperial Army that we had to urgently organize to deal with what you unleashed."