Chapter 6: Judgment of Yashur
Before the gigantic dark manor's stone gate, he collapsed onto the floor.
The halo still retained its function, vaporizing the falling rain into steam, while the bloodied Myrrsword stood impaled into the black stone-slabbed ground, flowing with rapid water.
A near hundred men... he had killed them. You... you killed them, Nether. Y-you slaughtered them all.
"Ugh." He retched, then, unable to hold it anymore, let out a violent churn of digested food from his stomach. He retched again, but this time he held it in by casting his head upward.
Making the rain hit directly on his face, and his cloak now dyed in crimson washed down into the colorless tide below.
"Aaargh!" He let out a frenzied cry as more tears streamed down his bloodshot eyes.
He bit deep into his lips as the form of Yashur, the Judgment, loomed above him as if pressing him with some unseen weight.
You... you... Mahdi-Kal.He clutched his head as his vision spun. You have strayed from the path.
He directed his palms to his ears before letting out another guttural scream as his vision swam.
The form of Yashur drew closer and closer, pressing him with far more weight—far more weight that forced him to stare at the ground.
It is not in your power to take the life of men crafted by the hands of Eid-Xhalor.
His head trembled, and slowly he could feel the force of the passing wind and the far hum of the Yul-Myrr ships.
"I apologize." He forced his head up despite the odious weight. "I apologize. Mercy... I plead mercy."
The presence of Yashur held in his vision, then slowly it retreated back into the fiery skies burning in red sulfur.
Take no more blood. This is your judgment.
"It was necessary. Mother was in—" More tears streamed from his eyes, which were becoming more covered with red veins. "In grave danger." His breath hitched as if paused.
Whatever you have taken in blood, you shall pay in salvation. From now on...
The world around him shook as if something great was stepping on it. The sound of the gravel belonged to the palms of the Absolute Judge.
You shall walk in penance, Mahdi-Kal, until you have fulfilled the terms of your judgment.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the world around him normalized, and he found himself staring at the normal silhouette of the twin moons.
Yet the remnant of a voice trailed through his subconscious:
You shall be the savior to ninety-nine, lest you shall face tribulations numbering ninety-nine.
He shivered while his bloodshot eyes returned to their earlier state.
He wiped the cold blood that had been trailing from his nose, only to discover, with the new assault of cold, the absence of the fiery halo over his head.
Yashur had taken his comfort..
He trembled slightly before forcing himself up by using the Myrrdium as a crutch.
He found himself diminutive before the vast stone gate and the unending metal fencing lined with Myrridium glowing pipes.
He had slain enough to curb the revolution, and again, actively he had been shunned from any more life-taking actions by Eid-Xhalor, which would absolutely make his next step critical.
Imposing above Nether was the Wade-Bisor's manor. From the restricted view above the great stone barrier was the towering twin castle connected by a suspended bridge, letting out high-pressure energy made possible by Myrridium.
He had been here once or twice on formal visits with the son of the Baron Anvill, who happened to be of age with him, though possessed far more older siblings.
He knew that on the ground beyond this gate was a vast arsenal of Sul-Myrr, the great beacons, and the path guiders, Yul-myrr, in all shapes and forms, armed with manned Myrr-Cannons.
Lightning forked the skies, illuminating the shrouded silhouette of two great beacons structured like vast metallic triangles drifting from behind the twin castles toward him who stood before the stone gate bearing the golden emblazon of Artagnan.
These great machines let out countless whirling golden discs that tore the air at great speed toward where he stood. He slicked the silhouette of his own hair blocking his face backward.
They must have found him out, but perhaps his face would stay hidden due to the hood draped over it.
From beyond the gate, he heard the recurrent whirl of machineries and the hastened footsteps of men he believed to be knights of the Baron order.
Nether shut his eyes and once again succumbed to the shadows, fading out of the light the very instant the Vül-Myrr's scouring discs arrived at his very spot, now reduced to clatters of rain on dark rocks.
The suspended mother ships drifted far near, then with a low subthrumic hum, they let out elevated pillars, each with a pair housing glowing dents from where more Vül-Myrr's shot out, spreading across the entire perimeter of the barony.
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He couldn't care less about the decorations and facades of the very spacious room he was in, dotted across walls lined with gold—pure and undulated from the port of Cyrus. He surveyed around with appraising eyes.
The painting of Lady Serene and the son; the famous art of the Jackals of the Far East, the sun rising in the western horizon—a counter art of Vagris.
The rare horned skull of the Furless Bull, Modrë-Pat, and many more antiques he could not recognize but possessed far more value in gold than a pyramid of Moranuts and wintergrain.
He closed his eyes, illuminated by the burning blue light of the Myrridium golden chandelier hung far up the unreachable ceiling.
"You store so much wealth, üm'ni dah'ib mä Nei'res.."
He muttered softly at the red-haired man fast asleep on the king-sized bed made out of the finest Lorian silk and Winterport's Everfrost fabric.
"As though they shall speak in our favor on the judgment day of Yashur."
"WHEN YOU WAKE UP, ANVILL OF THE ECONOMY, YOU SHALL SERVE AS A WATCHDOG TO THE MAHDI-KAL." He whispered into the ears of the sleeping man, who supposedly had a great amount of knights standing outside that door.
With his feet, he kicked the fallen carcass of a Vül-Myrr toward a heap of which he had compelled to "lose their sight."
"YOU SHALL PASS WHATEVER MESSAGE OR DIRECTIVES HANDED TO YOU BY THE COVENANT TO HIM AND ANY SIGHTINGS OF THEIR PRESENCE IN THE CITY OF ADAMAS."
He held his mouth, preventing the nauseating drop of blood from pouring through.
"AND TO EVERY OFFENSE LABELLED AT YOU, YOU SHALL TAKE RESPONSIBILITY."
The rapid movements of feet against the polished floor sent him into full alarm as he retreated from the bed, not sparing a glance at the equally asleep concubine.
They had to be the knights, seemingly alarmed by the mother ships. The frantic footsteps grew closer that he could feel them in the hall across the wall—the muffled orders and the metallic clangs of their coats of mail.
Quickly, he made toward the heap of the fallen Vül-Myrr's, then with one last command, the door swung open.
"Pardon us, lord, but we wish to raise alarm for an intruder."
What greeted the bands of armed knights was a desolate space devoid of human form but not of the swirling Vül-Myrr's, which encircled a cadre of knights.
"And what exactly is this 'intruder' you speak of?"
Baron Anvill rose from the king-sized bed with the grace of a five-foot-tall monarch that commanded fear, but not at the woman who remained nested in sleep.
He wrapped himself in his royal robes—an action that sent a jolt through the wrong knights.
"General Ferm'in..."