The House Of Blood and Dust, Book One: Darkness Rising

Torn Between Welkin and Reaper

The moon beams beautifully in the sky, shining weakly within the sun’s kingdom, broken from the torturous affair that has plagued its family, my family blessed with this horrid atrocity. I continue to walk up the stairs into the mountain side, haunted with emotions that have long buried themselves deep within the vessel that I assume is my cowering heart. The love that bore me a child has been corrupted and I no longer cherish it, or the child for which I’ve known nothing of for his three years on Garask, but nonetheless I’m consumed by such hatred of his elven mother, using me as a pawn to get back at her father; who knows who the whore opened her legs for and guided them inside like she did me, broken and disfigured like a mutilated infant crying out to the prostitute that they call a mother. The air is thick and the winds blow like the bite of death; I’ve wrapped up warmly as advised, looking like a Frinexian eskimo un-blessed by their own gods, whom wish to see them naked to the core with nothing more to their women’s name as a simple silk dress. My mind is tempest feeling nauseous over a woman I’ve spend four or so hours with, how fucking pathetic of me? Hoping that the failed actress with touch me and the anxiety of teenage years with cease to bring their horrid spineless curiosities. I see the temple and the figure of Ares’ eyes burning into the night, the snow may fall but does no go near him for fear of dying,

          “You must be blessed that the snow doesn’t kiss you, uncle.” I walk closer to him, his and my own mask on to conceal our own selves,

          “Bah, the snow doesn’t kiss me because I am hot. I adjusted to this weather whilst out here living amongst the Reapers… this is why they have my sword.”

          “What in the lord’s name is a Reaper?” Ares laughs and stands from his rock which the snow begins to touch. He comes to me just shy of the temple, winds blow harsher with the snow mixed in.

          “The Reapers are an ancient cult of men and women who believe that everything taught to us all is a lie, created by poets to turn us against each other, they create their own literature to show what the truth is. I wished to see their truth.” He pauses and looks at me, his mask lighting up like a hellhound, burning eyes like the inferno, smile like my own.

          “And what is their truth?”

          “Their truth is that we are the unstoppable race, even the gods cannot harm us, humans and elves together in harmony creating the race of the Reapers, whom are highly skilled in all forms of combat… of course I’d wish to study here, for six years… they say that Shanjin was the cults first leader and he crushed through the gates of Paradise to reach Olympus and put the unjust gods to the sword, he failed and was captured and placed in Hades with the Devil’s Core.”

          “And his soul remains restless and uncared for there… yeah, I know the story but if the gods truly did exist wouldn’t these hubris committing zealots be brought to the sword.” Ares’ laughs once again, his laugh this time sound much more metallic,

          “That is why we are here dear boy, for my sword and for my gods.”

          “You’re expecting to wipe out a whole race?”

          “Indeed, these zealots have tested my will for decades and I demand that we rip this cancer from the earth.” I laugh and lean on a large rock,

          “You demand that we destroy these men, women and children for some deities who may not actually exist, maybe these Reapers have the right idea, everything may just be a god’s damned lie pushed into our little minds.”

          “Who granted magic to Garask, Avenji? The gods gave us these gifts and we have not ruined them, goddesses roam the lands to mate with mortals to give them children who will be greatness.”