Auwooo… Woof!!
A mournful, desolate howl rose from the ruins, carried away by the whistling winds and drifting farther into the desert.
Raging Fury, massive in body and three-headed in form, threw its heads back in a synchronized cry. All but the last note remained perfectly controlled.
Duke had already been whisked away by a teleportation spell, the Wraith Spirit had vanished, and Vekora had been reduced to rubble under Xerath's bombardment. The cries of the wounded, the screams of the dying, and the wails of despair blended into a chaotic symphony of destruction.
Pfft!
Raging Fury snorted, pacing through the ruins. Its massive form visibly shrank before the naked eye, the mixed scents of smoke, scorched earth, and blood filling the air.
Yet nothing could mask Duke's scent. Though Duke had vanished without a trace, Raging Fury's nose remained unerring — he could not be lost.
Auwooo!
Leaping atop a collapsed dwelling, Raging Fury let out a long, mournful howl, drawing the attention of some survivors — yet no one responded. Pride's energy signature pulsed to the west; he had been sent by his father to track a woman important to him.
Raging Fury had his own mission, just as Pride had his.
After noting the direction of Pride, Raging Fury turned toward the remnants of the army still under Xerath's control — a scattering of troops in the city, now being relentlessly pursued by a dog-headed humanoid wielding a massive axe.
The three heads of Raging Fury glanced at one another, then stealthily concealed themselves, following the fleeing stragglers westward.
Father said: bring down the one who flies in the sky…
Then bring him down, he would.
Even if Duke had disappeared, it didn't matter — Raging Fury remembered his scent perfectly and would find him.
Find him, and then… crush him.
Mission: complete.
Stealthily tracking the stragglers, Raging Fury pressed west. The group knew their destination well: Naerima Qie, to the west of Shurima — the royal capital established by Xerath himself!
He… intended to declare himself emperor.
The first step: sever the Ascendant bloodline.
Yet Xerath had met Duke and failed. He hadn't cut the Ascendant bloodline, and had nearly had his coffin crushed by a certain dog.
Abandoned, the human slaves and mercenaries had been left behind. Using teleportation magic, they escaped Vekora's range.
And their meticulously built power? Scattered, but to Xerath, disposable slaves were like weeds — endless.
The abandoned stragglers marched west, quickly leaving Vekora's influence. Their remaining camels were driven tirelessly, stopping occasionally to scavenge water in the desert.
Their supplies were scant. They had believed that their emperor, Xerath, would lead them to plunder wealth and resupply at each conquered city. From Naerima Qie to Vekora, their survival relied on sieges and raids.
Now, discarded like old shoes by Xerath, their rations nearly depleted, they had no choice but to revert to old habits, doing whatever it took to find food.
Their profession? Desert bandits.
Night fell.
The black sky howled with icy wind. The desert had baked them by day, but at night it could freeze a drop of water solid.
Fortunately, humans adapt. No matter how harsh the desert, they survive like resilient grass.
Beep beep… pop…
The sound of dry wood crackling quieted as new sticks were thrown onto the fire, sending sparks scattering into the night sky.
Wood was a precious resource in the desert — soil for plants was scarce, and fire was essential to survive the long, freezing nights. Every scavenger treasured what kindling they could find.
Eurydice was a scavenger's daughter. From her earliest memories, she had wandered the desert with her parents, seeking treasures buried beneath the sands.
Her grandmother often said that the treasures beneath the yellow sands were gifts from the heavens — their lifeline. Even a single buried beast bone could provide tomorrow's meal.
Eurydice took this to heart, following the traditions of the scavengers. She was the fastest child in her tribe at finding treasures, often praised by elders — though she knew her skill was as much about talent as it was about training.
She could see through sand, through earth and stone, seeing whatever she desired.
Recently, they had returned from an ancient ruin, planning to trek to Vekora to sell their findings for supplies.
"Hey, Kalza!"
A gruff voice drew the attention of a ragged middle-aged man at the edge of the camp. His belongings were tattered, and he leaned on an old staff.
Before being called, he had been inspecting a clay pot by firelight, tracing its faded designs.
"Sickel, changed your mind?"
Kalza set down the pot, grabbed his staff and pack, and approached the fire. Sickel rubbed his beard.
"We've been walking all day. We need your stories to get through the night. Come, take a spot by the fire."
Around the fire, everyone bundled in blankets, eager for stories to give hope during the cold, exhausting night. In Shurima, a good story could earn a place by the fire or even a trade for goods.
To a Shuriman, a story was a living thing, growing and twisting with each telling. Minor details would always be exaggerated, each storyteller adding their own spin.
Cough… Kalza cleared his throat theatrically, sitting by the fire. The flames cast a warm glow on his weathered face, chasing away the night's chill.
"In the farthest past, there was a god who protected the scavengers!"
His impassioned voice lifted the spirits of many. Stories of scavengers were also their own stories — they loved hearing them.
Kalza, noticing their attentive gazes, pulled from his pack a broken shard of pottery, faded paint revealing a majestic beast.
It was his prop, enhancing the storytelling experience. He always searched for artifacts with stories; if none were known, he wove tales inspired by the images — tales of scavengers, beast riders, desert bandits, and ancient Ascendants.
Holding the shard, he recalled the story he had traded for it from a starving elder — a hard flatbread in exchange for the story.
"His body flowed with molten lava, expanding and contracting freely. His roar could repel the sands!"
Kalza handed the shard to Sickel, letting him see the three-headed canine.
"He has three heads, each with divine power: one can shoot lightning that tears the night sky, one breathes fire that melts the desert, and one releases a freezing wind that chills the land!"
"He is the protector of scavengers, shielding all tribes of Shurima."
As Kalza's voice echoed, the shard passed through the crowd. People caressed the shard, eyes alight with wonder.
"He drives away desert beasts, leading scavengers to treasures beneath the sands, and protects them from danger!"
The shard eventually reached Eurydice. She traced the image, gradually seeing hidden echoes beneath the paint.
A three-headed, majestic canine stood amidst the sands, roaring with a force that seemed to shake the earth.
Eurydice's mind leapt back to ancient times, imagining the abundant, secure life scavengers might have under such a god's protection.
"Uncle Kalza, what's the three-headed dog god's name? How did he receive offerings?"
A child from the crowd asked. Eurydice perked up, listening intently.
"Many gods' names are lost to the sands," Kalza replied, "but ancient scavengers offered pure, beautiful maidens in tribute."
His gaze settled on Eurydice, a chilling note in his voice.
"Scavengers would present the most beautiful maiden of the tribe as the god's bride, showing their reverence. In return, the god bestowed blessings — indestructible glass weapons to protect themselves."
Kalza knew how to stir emotions — leading with wonder, finishing with horror. Many girls shivered; none wanted to be offered to a god. Kalza smiled, satisfied.
At that moment, Sickel noticed movement outside the firelight. Approaching footsteps, cruel and greedy, revealed the desert bandits.
"Bandits!"
"Bandits!!"
"Elders, children, women — move inward! Men, grab your knives!"
"Everyone stand, don't expose your backs!"
The scavengers quickly formed a defensive perimeter, preparing to repel the raiders.
"Give us your food, water, and women!"
The bandit leader stepped into the firelight, curved blade in hand, face cruel and merciless.
At that moment, Raging Fury, trailing the retreating stragglers, yawned.
But the blue-eyed head sensed something amiss — a small girl, holding a shard, stared unblinking at him.
As if she had seen through his disguise.
Uhh?
The blue head tilted. This girl… was no ordinary child.
End of chapter....
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