The Darkening of This Age

By Benjamin Mathis

The First Injustice 

"How? How could they stand by and watch slaughter, and say it was legal action?" Maverick, the Grand General of Ilmitar, strode out from the courtroom in the great glass city of Binzad, scarlet cape billowing out behind him. "A group of Tletlan-sponsored raiders somehow kill an entire convoy of Goshën merchants and no one, no one in Ilmitar, Ociphar, or anywhere else for that matter, bats a bleeding eye!" His right hand, Gorden, walked just behind him, face furrowed. 

"I am with you, Maverick. This was an unjust slaughter, but what can we do? With the treaties the way they are, not even Goshë's military could make a retaliatory strike into Tletlan territory. It would be a diplomatic disaster." 

"I can see that Gorden. You and I know just as well as anyone that these Ociphen Courts are corrupt. Backwards feudal systems and age-old hate of the Goshën. Had the summit been in Horomar, we would have had a different verdict today." Maverick slammed his gauntlet down on the solid glass guardrail so hard it cracked. "I don't care what these corrupt courts say. Something must be done. Something must be done." 

"As you say, Lord Octem. You hold one-eighth share of all of Ilmitar's might. If someone can do something, it is you."

"I hope your faith is well placed, friend. Perhaps our own courts will hear my reason." Maverick glared at the glassilk-robed Ociphen diplomats swishing by, laughing cordially to each other with fake smiles. A web of "peace" and "diplomacy" woven by cowards and schemers blocked him from moving to protect the innocent. He forced his rising anger aside. Four more formal meetings left to go with the Ociphen today, then a long journey back home. He must remain calm. Risking an altercation with Ilmitar's sister nation would be disastrous. "Just stay focused, Maverick. Stay focused." He told himself. And stay focused, he did. 

Throughout the afternoon, the Ociphen and Tletlan delegates prattled on about various scenarios and feigned innocence with fake-sounding testimonies. Ilmitarian and Horomite delegates looked bored, and some of the older ones even fell asleep. Maverick had seen this play before. Distract, distract, distract. They had just enough plausible deniability. Like everyone else, Maverick had been given the reports. He saw the carnage, and he knew how trained combatants fought. He knew how trained combatants could kill dragons. This was textbook. Armed rabble my ass. 

"Your Majesties of the court, Nobility of the Deep, and My esteemed fellow Octem of Ilmitar: Long have I been the Octem of War in Ilmitar, and I have studied many things. The attacks carried out bear the signs of an expertly trained military force. I don't know if any of you have sparred with one of the Goshën people, but I have. Killing a dragon is no easy task. And you expect me to stand here and believe that a rebel band of criminals, unsponsored, seemingly unprovoked, slaughtered an entire caravan, with an escort force, might I add, and without the Tletlan government's knowledge? I mean no insult by my words, but surely you must consider the evidence. It cannot be construed in any other way. I know my voice will not be heard by all. But consider what I have to say. If we do not act now, if we do not stop this downward trajectory, surely all will burn."

"Will the noble Octem Maverick kindly take his seat! You are out of turn, sir!" A chorus of objections from the Ociphen and Tletlan sections of the courtrooms overwhelmed Maverick's attempts to speak his mind. He caught a number of glares from his own delegation, too. His words were quickly discussed over and around, and the conversation moved on. Somehow, the Ociphen were angling that prices set by Goshën traders were to blame for this. "Unthinkable. Something must be done," Maverick thought to himself. 

 Weeks Pass

Awakening

The gentle, familiar touch of ash lighted upon Maverick’s skin. He pushed himself up from the ground, world spinning. Before him, a sprawling city burned, great mansions and palms glowing like hot embers. Maverick could feel the heat on his face, singeing at his skin and eyes. The echoes of battle clattered around him, and he found himself with a sword in hand, fighting amidst a war of many peoples. Dragons flew overhead, raining fire down on the mages in the backlines of the enemy, swords, spears, and magic clashed on the ground below. Formation and strategy were to Maverick like rhythm and pitch to a musician; waves and waves of bodies clashed, slew, and fell into piles and trenches. The world passed by in a blur, and before Maverick rose the throne of Enletan, the great living deity of Tletl. The figure on the throne was arrayed in beautiful feathers and gold jewelry, but crimson ichor flowed from its torso to the floor. An onyx spear was embedded in the god's chest, and its avian head hung limply to one side, tongue sprawling. Now the battlefield was completely still. Nothing stirred but the ash that continued to land, like winter snow, on the general of Ilmitar. His hands were covered in his own, burnt blood. 

Maverick sat up in bed, head aching ferociously. The horrific dreams that woke him drained away like tree sap, leaving their sticky residue upon his heart. Breonan awoke gently, and slipped her arm across his torso, and guided him back into the down they shared. "My love, your dreams have woken you again?" 

"Yes, my love. Go back to sleep." Maverick placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled gently. 

"No," Breonan said, rising slightly, piercing draconic eyes leveling with Maverick's. They glowed slightly in the darkness. "I think you are bottling these stresses up. Please, talk to me so maybe we can both sleep better." She was always hard to resist. 

"I see some far-off future. It's different every time, but the world is on fire. Corpses litter the battlefield in every direction, from every nation. Dragons, men, others. I see cities burn and temples glowing like embers. I hear laughter. and I hear myself screaming like an animal." 

"You did make very distressing sounds before you awoke." 

"Did I wake you?" 

"Yes, but it is fine. I think we'll survive." She held him closer. "Do you think it's going to come true?"

"I don't know, love. I think that's what is troubling. They feel so real. And... It is possible. War is brewing, I can feel it. So many have already died, and the true fighting hasn't even started."

"You cannot save everyone, no matter how hard you try. You can only affect what is right in front of you." Breonan's face softened, her fingers tracing lines on Maverick's hands.

"I know, I know. But something must be done." His face hardened. "Something must be done." 

"You will do something, my love. But tomorrow. Tonight is for us and for rest. Please, try to get some sleep and release it for the morning's work." 

"I will, Breonan. I will. Goodnight, my love." Maverick tried to push the visions of slaughter out of his mind, but they would not go. He heard thousands of strangled vocal cords rasping out his name again, and again, and again. 

A Month Passes.

 Tidefall

Maverick had fallen asleep at his desk the night the war started. When a page burst into the office before dawn with an urgent message from Goshë, he started awake with a jolt and nearly fell out of his seat. The page paused and allowed Maverick a moment to wake before delivering the news. Through his wakening delirium, Maverick heard more and more troubling information coming through his sleep-deprived brain. Goshën attacked, their port capital under blockade? Refugees already arriving on the western coast of Ilmitar? New magic turning dragons against their allies? What was happening? In an instant, he comprehended what had happened. In a boiling rage, he flipped his desk, flying papers vaporizing in the magical heat emanating from his body. The reports of fleet practice hadn't been farce and aggrandized swaggering like the other Octem claimed. Maverick was right. He knew he had been. They had been preparing for full-scale war. No one thought they had the military strength to fight the dragons, and they shouldn't. Yet... 

"Go and send this message to all the Octem. If they are asleep, wake them. I am enacting Protocol Six, 'Actions in Defense of an Ally'. Go to them and kick them if you have to. We must have our emergency vote so we can go to war and end this pointless war before it consumes both their nations."

"Yes, my Octem. As you wish." Maverick then sought out the page assigned to his office and gave him instructions to get a team to rouse and inform all his generals, and give them his instructions to prepare for transport and war. The reserves must be pulled, the mages summoned, and the guilds informed. The time has come to help our allies in need. 

The capital of Ilmitar, Telmarie, was a blur of activity in the hours before the emergency meeting started. Dragons flew overhead transporting goods, ranks of soldiers moved through the streets as citizens looked on in shock as news of the attack upon Goshën was delivered. Maverick's energy was manic as he prepared. He packed his necessary items and worked with the transport division to pack his office and prepare to move his necessary things for a frontline command center.

Papers flew overhead, and several things were dropped by accident. As a general, Maverick did not bark orders. When his anger rose, his voice lowered like a breeze brushing through shrubs, and his face hardened like steel. Today, this was Maverick's disposition. 

Finally. The meeting call. He strode to the great meeting hall at the top of the city, and was the first Octem there. He thought at first he would be the only one to arrive. Maverick glowered at the empty chamber, rapping his desk with his gauntleted fingers while pages and recorders slowly shuffled in the dawn light. A shudder passed through Maverick's spine, and he jerked in his chair sharply. Next to him had appeared Ahansa, the Octem of Mysteries. He was tall, dark, and somehow even more looming than he. 

"Up all nigh,t Ahansa? Did you get any intel of the attack before it happened, or did they blindside us?" Maverick rapid-fired his questions at the head of espionage. 

"Yes. I was awake all night." Ahansa did not look at Maverick as he spoke, and strode to the edge of the platform Maverick's desk sat on. "And yes. My spies did not get appropriate information to me before the attack. They were as surprised as we were." He spoke slowly, choosing each word like a chef selecting a fillet knife. 

"You know I was right, Ahansa. I saw this war coming miles away. Months ago. I warned the Octem and requested leave to prepare, but no. Budget concerns and so-called diplomatic decency got in my way. We could have prevented this with army movements alone!" Maverick blurted, fists clenching around a pen on his desk. Ahansa stood, dark cloak falling around him like a shadowed mountain. 

"You did predict a war, Maverick. You may have your moment. I would admonish you to assuage your hopes in entering Ilmitar into war. The Guilds are not ready, nor willing. You will struggle to convince the others, even now." 

"How? Our ally, whom they have sworn to protect and I have taken an oath to, has been set under siege! Their port attacked! You expect me to stand by and watch our brothers and sisters slain?" Maverick rose, now rivalling the height of his fellow Octem. "How can you expect us to back out of an agreement with an ally in their time of need?"

With the slightest step backward, Ahansa set his hand gently on Maverick's clenched fist. "Maverick, I understand how you see this situation. I understand your concerns. I am not disagreeing with what you are saying. I am saying that there are others who will not. Who feel just as strongly as you. You must calm yourself." Slowly, Maverick lowered his fist and let his hand relax. 

"Something must be done." 

"Something will be done. It may not be everything you want, but it will be done. These are delicate times." 

"I suppose I am not a delicate leader. Perhaps they will see fit to find a more tame general to play puppet to the other guilds." 

"Perhaps. We serve a democracy. But we shall see what happens today. Do not try to pierce the future, Maverick. That is impossible even for myself." 

"I have done the impossible twice now, Ahansa. I can do it again." Ahansa chuckled softly and left Maverick’s podium and slithered, Maverick thought, to his own podium. After what seemed like hours, the Octem of Health arrived, signing documents as she walked. The Octem of Magic came next with his entourage of scribes and interns. Knowledge and Agriculture came next, chatting as they entered, holding small pots of steaming tea. Several minutes after the meeting had been delayed, the final two Octem arrived. Sauntering in at an infuriating pace, the probably hungover, sleep-deprived Octems of Trade and Diplomacy, followed by their assistants, entered and slumped into their seats. Maverick's blood boiled at the sight of them. They had stymied his efforts since the massacre months ago that foretold this war. And as always, they looked ready to play their part once again. He was sure the Octem of diplomacy had been bought out by Ociphar. He was always receiving gifts and hosting endless parties for foreign diplomats. 

"Members of the Octem, please rise," called the withered voice of the Chief judge that chaired the legislative session. The Octem rose, and stood for the roll call. "Then we shall begin this emergency meeting called by Octem Maverick, in response to the attacks on Goshë by the Tletlan Navy. You may all sit. We shall begin by addressing the source of the news. Has intelligence or military personnel confirmed the sightings of this attack for ourselves?" Maverick called upon the dragon who was patrolling a trade route when he saw the attack and reversed course for Ilmitar. Ahansa called forward an agent posted nearby who escaped just before the attack occurred, to bring intel back to the Capital. "It would appear that the reason for the meeting is established as acceptable. We shall proceed." Maverick stood. 

"Protocol dictates in the diplomatic agreements we have set with our ally, Goshë, that in times of war we will side with them against any ally, in order to preserve our friendship as nations and protect life. Do we-"

"Please, would the Octem of the Military define for us what 'war' constitutes in this clause? I do not recall, in studying the signing of that treaty, its intent being the halting a simple blockade." Pashaan, the Octem of Diplomacy, called from his lounging position in his seat. 

"Would the Honorable Octem Pashaan of the Diplomacy Guild stand when he addresses the Octem? It is procedure,” called the withered judge. 

"As you wish, my lord," said he, standing lazily.

"I would suggest the Octem of Diplomacy refer to the fact that it was not a simple blockade. This action has been preceded by multiple attacks on Dragon caravans traveling over both neutral soil and Tletlan provinces. These actions were clearly the harbinger of war. They were testing their equipment and methods to ensure they could sustain a full-scale assault."

"While I am sure you are correct, Maverick, the report itself says blockade, and we cannot break all our other ties in the peace committee with Ociphar and potentially Horomar over a little blockade by Tletl. They have been getting the short end of the Goshën stick for a long time now and are negotiating. Simple as that." 

"Lies!" Maverick slammed his desk involuntarily.

"Would the good Octem Maverick please remember his decorum in the Octem floor?" wheezed the judge despairingly. 

"My deepest apologies, my lord." Maverick's attention was turned to the Octem of Trade who now stood. She motioned to her co-conspirator,

"The good Octem of Diplomacy is right. We cannot sacrifice our trade partners to go throw our youth's lives away in an unneeded and meaningless war. Our focus should be on the benefit and prosperity of Ilmitarian people first, above distant allies under no real threat." Maverick was speechless. Their level of greed and inane logic was bewildering and maddening. 

Maverick's eyes searched the faces of the other Octem, looking for signs of outrage like his own. Few showed much emotion at all. In the gallery seating behind the Octem of Magic's podium, Maverick's eyes fell on his brother, a lean, older man with his staff, fuzzy brow furrowed. Their eyes met, and Methuselah sent a worried look towards his brother, Maverick.  The Octem of magic stood to address the council.

"This situation is certainly both distressing and complex. Not one of us doubts your valor, Octem Maverick, but, due to the nature of our agreements, we cannot aid our ally without betraying an even older and closer ally. This time requires a new height of tact and wit from all of us. I employ you all to consider what we can do to aid our allies without entering the war ourselves." A murmur of agreement rose to meet his milk toast proposition, in which he said nothing, Maverick thought. More chatter and idle agreement sprouted between some of the Octem's members, mixing with the low whispers of the gallery behind them. 

"I must present a humanitarian argument, dearest colleagues. I understand your hesitancy to enter a conflict, but on two points I do agree with Octem Maverick in his assessment of the situation. Yes, we have made a commitment with both Goshë and Ociphar, yet only one is directly under siege. This is pressing. But more pressing for me is that if we do not intervene, there is no telling how much blood will be spilt, both Goshën and those of the Tletl military." Maverick's brow raised at the sound of Uthule Margay, the Octem of Health, agreeing with him. As one of his longest opponents on the council floor, it was as rare as snow in summer that they saw eye to eye. Maverick caught her gaze and bowed his head slightly to indicate his deep thanks for her recognition. She continued, "It's quite possible that if the wrath of Goshë is truly provoked, and full-scale war is unleashed, the entirety of Tletl could be destroyed by the dragons. They may yet be underestimating our ally, whom we know to be terrifyingly strong in combat from the tales of history. My guild promises to save as many lives as possible, and I would not stand by and see our allies harmed in any way." 

"Surely you are joking, Madam Octem! If we enter a pointless war, three times as many soldiers and innocents will die! Think of the danger you put our troops into!" Cried Octem Pashaan. 

"Ilmitar's soldiers, unlike some of their leaders, do not flinch in the face of danger, Honorable Octem Pashaan." Maverick Growled. 

"Maverick." The judge warned. Another Octem stood and spoke out against conflict. After some more bickering, the Octem of Agriculture stood,

"Truly, I see both sides of this heated conflict. Allyship on both sides of a war, conflicts of interest, and knowing some of our allies' deep-seated hatred of each other, sets us in a delicate position. In addition to this, our citizens are not as prepared for a war as they could be. Our food production is relaxed, and our industry may not be ready for full mobilization for some time. Despite this, we are having a discussion at the most critical time on this deeply important decision. If we go to war, we must be wise. If we do not go to war, we must be more wise and prepare for if our hand is forced. Maverick, have some faith in your friends, please. Should the time come, I believe not one of us would hesitate in giving you full power to help our ally and command our forces." 

Pashaan stood again, allowing his snide expression to hover over both Maverick and the Octem of Agriculture.

"Good Octem of Agriculture, what would a military buildup, as well as the civilian buildup, provide for us? This blockade will be gone by the time the moon is new, and this dispute will be a laughable memory. Your plan would saddle Ilmitar with an increase in the people's taxes and manufacturing burden, and would definitely turn the people's opinions against us! I urge you to relax; we can wait out this storm like all others. We need not get involved now, or in the future." Maverick was practically glowing like a coal.

"Will you only see what is right in front of you when thousands have died? Will you lift your finger to signal action once every child lies in a heap, burning mountains of carrion? When the Goshën cavern halls are stained red with the malice of the Tletlan animals who slaughter our allies indiscriminately? All of you shame the name of Ilmitar and our noble history. How can you not see? Something must be done! Something must be done now! Every day we stay idle is dozens, if not hundreds, dead. Has the wealth and gifts of the Ociphen nobility so blinded you, you cannot see their hand yet again in the harm of Goshë and her people?" Rage swelled at the injustice. The audacity. The magnitude of his people's sin.

Clamor and arguments came pouring out from the Octem and the judges, and even his brother. He could no longer hear their calls. He turned from his podium and left the meeting of the Octem, breaking centuries-old tradition.

Something must be done. 

And he would be the person to do it.

Moments Later

     Stormwinds

Maverick's footfalls sounded like war drums along the hallways of the Ilmitarian Military headquarters in the capital city. Tiny glowing sparks ejected themselves from the chinks in Maverick's armor, falling away behind him, pinpricks of his rage. He approached the massive doors to the meeting room of his cabinet of officers and raised a hand to send them flying off their hinges past him. Several of the generals jumped out of their seats and took steps back; his old guard stood slowly, however, and saluted their commander. 

"The emergency meeting was a failure. I was opposed at every turn by that wretch of an Octem. More of a weasel than a diplomat." Maverick slammed his fists down onto the table's edge and held them there, wisps of smoke rising from his clenched fists. "It was decided we would not set out to join the war and aid our allies, but they did not tell me I could not prepare. We shall act, up to the moment of boarding our ships, as if we were. When they finally see, provided it isn't too late, we will be as ready as we can be." 

"Surely they will have some objections to this plan, sir-" One of his subordinates offered before being cut off.

"Their objections be dammed!" Maverick cried. "We have stood by and watched this slaughter long enough. Nothing gets through their thick skulls, not even the Hidden spy's firsthand account. If we don't start readying for war, we are dooming them, and ourselves." An uneasy silence filled the room.

Maverick's eyes touched slowly on each of his generals. Thallis looked uneasy; he could stay and secure supply lines. Margelia's eyes were filled with the same grim determination as his own; she could take a legion behind enemy lines to spearhead. Kestrel had intricate experience with seigecraft, and he would take him in his own force. Gorden was also ready. Maverick had no intention of merely preparing for war. He was prepared to defy the will of the Octem, and his time had come. As Maverick studied his generals, Gorden stood, placing his clenched fist over his heart.

"My lord, we will follow you wherever you lead. Our allegiance is to you, and to Ilmitar, not to the Octem of Diplomacy." The other officers followed suit, showing their readiness. 

"You all understand the potential consequences of... Heroism?" He knew that their ears were not the only ones listening. In one voice, his generals answered:

"Duty, unto any end."

"Then let us prepare. Let the hosts make ready to begin transport of all military personnel to the tertiary headquarters in the forest port of Eltalel. Dragons shall take as much as they can carry in a caravan that will leave at dawn; the rest of us shall go by convoy before midday. Rouse the troops." Maverick's generals hesitated for just one moment, long enough that Maverick knew someone was behind him. He whirled, cape flailing behind him, knocking papers and maps off the war table.

In the doorway behind him stood his brother, Methuselah. He was looking older than when they last spoke, streaks of grey now fully nesting in his long beard. He wore grey robes of the Mages guild, rumpled and disorderly in his usual way. Methuselah's head tilted gently to the side, brow furrowed, not in fear but in concern. Without speech, a sudden gulf echoed between them, with Maverick feeling a sudden vertigo at realizing all he had to lose in this fight. 

"Mav, you're leaving? I did not think the Octem ratified your motion." 

"They didn't." All the other personnel had left the room by now, and though a great clamor was rising throughout the district, the now-empty meeting room felt vacuous and silent. "We aren't breaking any orders as given and recor-"

"Don't. I needn't know. The fewer details I know, the fewer details I can tell them when they ask." 

"They will ask. I don't want you to get caught up in all this." 

"Mav. I've been caught up in your antics since you could walk. Maybe before." Maverick smiled, and his brother did too. "I wish I could send you with more than my good wishes. I have to follow orders in the guild." 

"You always did. It's what made you so great, Methuselah." There was a bite in Maverick's words that he regretted as they left him. His brother's smile fell a little. Methuselah took Maverick's arm and held him firmly. 

"You be wise and careful, Mav. I'll do what I can for you here, but... You know. There's only so much in times like these." 

"You won't consider coming, then? We've fought side by side before." He couldn't help but ask. 

"No. Not this time. I'm sorry, Maverick." 

"Then." He paused. "Then look after Breonan. Don't let her come after me. I know it is her people, but she should be as far away from this as she can. Please." 

"I will. As much as I can." 

"Forgive me. It's time. There is so much that I must do now." 

"I will. Let the Storm-winds guide you, Maverick."

Maverick turned from his brother, his love, his nation, and he wept. 

Two Months Later

Beginning of the Fall

Maverick stood panting, twisting his spear in the writhing chest of a Tletlan warrior. The woman's hands grasped limply at the hilt of his weapon before she fell limp. He wrenched his weapon out of the corpse, and with a great leap, he mounted the trench wall. What sunlight filtered through the smoke of the battlefield glinted off the silversteel armor of the now renegade general. His face was covered in scars and frenzied, raptured by the adrenaline of combat. His long, crimson cape flowed behind him in the gathering storm winds, and he held his spear, Angcroft, high. "Ilmitar! Gather your strength! Their lines break like web to the flame! Fight! Fight!” He rallied his troops for a fresh advance into enemy territory. A roar of men and dragons came to meet him.

They were ready. The city of Imkatnan would fall into his hand before the next sun rose. Dragons leapt into the air, and a multitude of mages and warriors gathered to Maverick’s call behind him, vaulting the trench line and sprinting towards the breach. A cratered landscape passed beneath their feet, littered with impact craters, corpses, and detritus. Instead of the hammering fire of the Tletlan's long-ranged cannons, they heard the harsh sounds of a countering ground force. Two companies of foot soldiers stood between them and the front gate of the city. Swords and guandao flashed as they collided with the spears and hooks of the Tletlan forces. As he neared the fray, Maverick felt curling tongues of hatred rise within him, and with his left hand, he loosed a torrent of fire, reducing a cluster of enemies to ash. Boldly, his men cut down these foes, and their training and tactics proved all the better. Loud drums sounded from inside the city wall, a warning call. The grand city gates opened, and several massive warriors stepped out onto the battlefield. Their skin was grey like stone, but it flowed like flesh. Their stride covered four paces of a man, and they bore brutal macahuitl, edges lined with the same anti-mage silver steel that maverick clad himself in. They bore down on his forces and began carving through the frontline, ignoring any resistance the bravest of Ilmitar's troops raised.

Simultaneously, the sky itself began to shriek and shake. A pit opened in Maverick's stomach as he watched the sleek, cruel forms of Ociphen skyships cruise out from behind the tall spires of Imkatnan. Immediately, beams of violent purple light flew from various ports in the shaped glass hulls of the craft. The dragons began to intercept, but the beams sent one of them careening to the ground, wingless and shrieking. 

Shaking off the daze from the two-pronged counterattack, Maverick began to formulate a plan for the ships. Without needing a directive, the mages rushed forward to deal with the Tletlan Elites. The ground itself erupted, and magma engulfed their feet, slowing their pace to a crawl, buying the soldiers time to retreat to safer ground. Fully trusting in his forces, Maverick stepped out and away towards the airships. Flexing his fingers in his gauntlets, the wind began to shift its course. Maverick unleashed an arc of white-blue lightning towards the nearer craft. It split in its course and struck towards both of the sky ships, whose mages projecting wide shields to halt the lightning. Ozone filled the air as the contest of magical strength continued.

A slight smile spread across Maverick's face. The wind now whipped around him, debris being dragged in a frantic orbit below the skyships. The mages onboard began scrambling to adjust the direction of the ships as vicious winds buffeted them from side to side. As the sky above them darkened, a piercing howl broke through the cacophonous noise of the wind, and a swirling pillar of fire descended on the ships. Their shields immediately dropped, and Maverick's simultaneous attacks connected with the ships at once. Glass splintered and flew, picked up by the hurricane gale now circling the ships. Burning bodies screamed and fell from the skyships, breaking on the city walls or landing in the fields of wrought iron caltrops. Within moments, the two craft, now molten lumps of glass, crashed into the city wall, sending stones and soldiers flying in every direction. 

As Maverick returned his attention to his troops, he saw Orthan, one of his warriors, pull his long and curved guandao from the neck of the last remaining stone-skinned giant, who had been brought to his knees by some of the mages on the battlefield. The other warriors, and many of Maverick's own, lay slain nearby, staining the dirt a wet, dark red. Maverick raised Angcroft once more and pointed it towards the city, not speaking a word. His soldiers knew what to do, and they swarmed the opening the skyship had made in the city wall. 

Maverick steadied himself. Drawing as much strength as he could back into himself from the immense magic he had unleashed. His chest heaved as he paced towards the city's wall. When he passed the city wall, the immediate area had already been cleared, and his troops knew their protocol. He had a moment to lean on Angcroft and recover his energy, both physical and arcane, from the battle before. He plunged his senses into the energy around him, drawing strength from every available source.

It was like distilling a fine spirit, but he could feel fine silver strings of power being pulled from the hidden world around him. His form relaxed, and he could feel his body stitching itself back together, and his spirit filling with renewed vigor. Vigor and hate.

It had been such a bloody war. Countless lives had been lost to the sloppy, unchivalrous, and downright criminal tactics of the Tletlan army. He had delighted in his victories against them. None were pyrrhic, and he had ordered his troops to burn everything in sight as they progressed inland. Tletl had lost nearly a third of their best farmland in his wake. Even if they were forced to pull out of the Tletlan continent at some point, Tletl would not win this, or any war, for a long time.

As he contemplated, a wave of nausea began to rise. Something... Someone was poisoning the well of energy from which he drew. It was like a creeping vine, spreading along the walls and cobbles of the city, up the tiered pyramids and great statues. It snaked towards Maverick's mind, dripping venom. With an immense wrenching of his will, Maverick tore himself from some spell. This was forbidden magic. The hidden weapon that he had heard so many illegitimate rumors about. All the more reason this nation would be burned beyond recognition when he was done with it. A shadow loomed over Maverick, and an unspoken dread entered his mind. Slowly, he turned, and above him towered Darthofax, the captain of the Goshën brigade that aided their assault. He was a dragon the size of a citadel, cloaked in rings of gold and gemstones. His head hung slightly back, tongue lolling, and emerald mist wafting up in billows from his mouth and eyes. The same emerald light began to shine from his eyes, and the head lowered, fully in control, but no longer that of Darthofax's. 

"General Maverick. You are strong of heart to have resisted me. Your friend here, not so lucky." Feminine words poured out like lethal honey, thick accent obscuring parts. 

"Fight me yourself, you coward," Maverick growled, already raising defensive spells to protect him from the torrent of fire he anticipated. 

"I have no need. And I am far, far away from this battle. I needn't even leave my lounge to kill you and your entire army." The dragon smiled a hideous, stretching grin. "Goodbye, little worm." The great maw opened, cavernous, and fire spilled forth in a torrent that could melt the strongest steel. Maverick thought better of trying to withstand the blast. Willing himself to fly, he seethed through the air to the cover of the nearest tower and began to run as fast as he could. With a scream like death, the possessed dragon leapt into the air, crashing into towers, leveling buildings, and plowing everything in its path to get to Maverick. 

He had one advantage. A human in a dragon's mind would not be as agile as a fully trained warrior dragon. If he was wrong, Maverick would likely have been dead already. He slid around cobbled corners and ducked through tight alleyways between monolithic buildings, narrowly escaping being crushed, burned, or eaten. Slowly but surely, his course took him directly towards the ziggurat that rose from the hill in the city center. His heart burned, and his side ached ferociously. The taste of iron and smoke lingered in his saliva as he reached a small side door on the side of the ziggurat temple. He could feel... her. The sorcerer was close. 

He ducked into the opening and slammed the heavy door behind him. He felt the building shudder a moment later as the weight of a dragon crashed against the ziggurat, ferociously tearing at the stones, trying to get at its prey. Maverick retreated into the tunnel deeper into the structure, tracing the tiny thread of power he felt earlier try to grasp his mind in the courtyard. Like following a scent, he crept, as quietly as his armor would allow, through the bowels of the massive temple. It seemed empty, evacuated. Step by step, he approached the heart of the structure, occasionally hearing the bellows of his possessed comrade outside. The "smell" he was following was now real. The air was thick with an astringent incense, enough to create a haze in the central chamber. Braziers of green flame burned in patterns around the room, and in the center, a dais lay covered in sheets of tulle hanging from the ceiling, obscuring the locus of power within. The dais radiated blistering arcane power. Now, Maverick understood the mechanism behind this terrible power. The whole temple was acting like a lens, focusing the magic of one individual to astronomic proportions.

Maverick placed one boot on the first step of the dais and was met with a howling gale resisting his advance. The flames flickered, and he barely retained his balance. Another step and the gale seemed to increase, shearing his cape off his armor. Another step brought him to the tulle barrier, which he parted. Sitting inside the shroud was a woman, eyes burning with green smoke, mouth muttering. She was adorned in a shawl of Royal purple, skin, leathery and sun-baked. Her hands were partially raised, as if she controlled the strings to some far-off puppet. She did not sense his presence. 

"Where are you, you Ilmitarian brute?" she muttered. Maverick could hear claws scratching high above his head on the roof of the ziggurat. 

"I am here, witch." Maverick placed his hands on either side the sorcerer's face, squeezing her skull like a vice. Her frail hands jerked up to his, tearing uselessly in his vice grip. Terror replaced the burning green light and smoke that filled her eyes, and she stared into the face of her prey. 

"Please! Please! I'll tell you anything you want! I released the dragon! I'll show you the secrets of our power! I'll let you into the capital! Anything!" She babbled, desperately weeping as his hands squeezed harder. Her nails dug into the gauntlets that held her squirming form in place. 

"No. You shall die as you are." Maverick's hands erupted in searing flame. Her shrieks shook the chamber walls. The hair was the first to burn away, replacing the sweet incense with acrid smoke. Maverick's lips parted slightly, a thin, brutal smile stretched across his face.

This was what he had to do. Skin snapped and fat melted. This is what she deserved, even long ago. Her flailing increased as she began trying to gouge his eyes out. None would stand before Maverick. They would know him as they knew natural disasters. An unstoppable force. Her flailing stopped by the time her eyes were charred away. Soon, only ooze, ash, and bone were left in Maverick's hands.

The fire did not end. Maverick's own armor began to smoke and crack. The fabrics around him were burned away in an instant. Gold engravings melted away, and stones cracked around him. This temple would burn, their city would burn. The guilty of Tletl would burn.  

~~

Long after the bedraggled, confused, and aching human form of Darthofax the dragon stumbled into the Ilmitarian troops, Maverick too strode into his camp. His armor was cracked and warped from heat, and any paint was burned away. Gorden ran to him first. "My lord! What happened to you?. We could not find you after we sieged the city, but we heard a great roaring from the far side of the temple. What did you do?" Behind Maverick rose a sickly black pillar of smoke rising from the ziggurat, one side collapsing in an active, hungry blaze. Maverick took a long drink from a flask of water before letting his eyes meet his general's gaze. 

"I found the trap that was laid for us here. Their 'Great Witches' burn like any other corpse." Without saying another word, he retired to his tent. Inside him, the fire did not end. 

Five Weeks Later

The Burning

A sprawling metropolis stretched out before Maverick. Ilmitar bore no such cities. The Tletlan capital city of Ixutur filled an entire valley, and the plain that exited its mouth. Despite the darkness of night, enough lights glowed from the towers and ziggurats dotting the city skyline that the clouds were lit from below, creating a yellow, sickly glow. Beyond the walls of the city, jungle had been cleared, and quarries pitted the land like maggot holes. Great columns of smoke rose from stacks of forges and factories throughout the city. The air itself smelled sulfurous and heavy, like the barrel of a cannon after firing. 

The manacles binding Mavericks' hands and dampening his power were tight and heavy, and red lines ached in his skin where they rubbed as he walked. Again, a whip cracked near his ear, causing him to stumble as the ringing overwhelmed his senses. It almost drowned out the raucous laughter and cheering of the guards that had found him, asleep in a tent on a reconnaissance mission. They had stripped him and wore his armor, flaunting their capture. He had been beaten senseless during the day and night they had frog marched him to Ixutur, and long welts now ran down his back. 

It took a number of hours for his "welcoming parade" to reach the palace of Emperor Tarkas, and in doing so, he was dragged through market squares, guard houses, factories, and temples. Men and women jeered at him, and soldiers spat on him as he passed. The steps of the temple seemed to go on for miles, and when they had reached the top, they threw him to his knees. 

The throne room sat right at the top of the steps, and was partially open to the humid, hot night air. Great fires burned in cauldrons on either side of a grand carpet, and palm wood structures created a wooden frame upon which great canvases, tapestries, carpets, banners, and skins hung, creating walls from floor to ceiling. These walls kept in the blinding perfume that filled the space, masking the smell of the banquet tables, and executed prisoners, headless, lying in a pile in the far corner of the great hall. The throne itself was raised high, on a faux miniature ziggurat mimicking the great temple that lay directly behind the sprawling palace of the king. On the throne sat Tarkas, current avatar of Enletan, his crown gilded, glittering with precious Ociphen gems, and covered in the feathers of birds beyond number. Past the glit and splendor, Maverick saw something he was not prepared for. Behind the robes of the Emperor, he wore an armor of black and red scale. The scales were like jet stones and were interwoven with silversteel. Maverick's world went white. He froze, muscles tensing, blind eyes staring forward. 

He had skinned a dragon. 

He had skinned a Goshën citizen. 

And he wore them like the skin of a deer. 

The guards hauled him off his knees and dragged him before the throne of Tarkas. The emperor's pure white teeth flashed as his enemy knelt before him. He stood from his throne and descended, one step at a time, narrating for his court,

"Ah! At last, we meet the fabled renegade general of Ilmitar! Come, my court! Let us greet the fair dignitary of the eldest nation!" He waved his arms as he descended from his throne, and the generals,  nobles, and dignitaries closed in around the Maverick. Even through his blind rage, Maverick noticed the glassilk robes of an Ociphen diplomat amongst the now jeering, mocking crowd.

"The good general decided to come pay us a visit. It's so kind of him to take time out of his busy schedule of invading my country and sacking my cities to come join us!" Tarkas bellowed, savagely slamming Maverick in the head with both fists, knocking him straight down onto his face. "What! Is the lord of fire too scared to speak before his better?" Grabbing Maverick by his hair, he wrenched his head up and backwards so he could look into his face. The emperor's dark eyes scanned the general's face like a hawk, looking for signs of weakness or fear. "You must really be a fool for getting caught alone so near my city. What were you thinking?" Maverick took the opportunity of being so near to the king's face to spit into his eye. The king swore and threw Maverick backwards and away from him. The guards immediately began to beat their captive with the butts of their polearms, splitting skin and breaking ribs. 

"Cease!" Tarkas raised his hand to stop his men. "The Octem earned that. He has had a long day." 

"How can you stand there in the skin of a person?" Maverick spat, allowing rage to consume him completely, flailing in his bonds. 

"Oh! You noticed! Come, let me show you the full set." He threw off his robe, revealing the full-scale armor. The nobles around him cheered and clapped, applauding the apparent victory of this horror. It moved like silk, but Maverick knew it was harder than steel. An attendant brought Tarkas a helm of silversteel covered in the dragon scale, with a single curved horn rising cruelly back from front in the center of the helm. Maverick's eyes swelled with tears as he recognized the pattern of the scales. They belonged to Ehegia, one of his battle sisters who fell and could not be retrieved in the first invasion of Tletl, months ago. 

"YOU ANIMAL!" 

"Come now! You'll find no better suit of armor in the entire world. The best silversmiths in any nation could not compete with the natural protection of dragon scale. That is the one concession I shall give those bastards; they were purpose-built for bloodshed. By the time we're finished with their pathetic race, we'll have a legion of such suits. Nothing can stop us, not even the great and awe-inspiring might of Ilmitar." His voice cooed, infantilizing his enemy. He stooped before Maverick, holding his chin up to his own. He leaned, putting his mouth to his ear, smelling of wine. "Don't worry, Maverick. You won't have to watch."

He pulled away and stood, turning slightly. In a flash, he turned back to Maverick, grasping his head and ramming the spiked knee of the armor into Maverick's face. Maverick screamed in pain, reeling away from the strike, clutching at the left side of his face, split with a long gash, straight through the eye. 

"That was the easy side! The other side will be a little harder with you moving so much, but we'll get there in the end. I'm patient." The nobles stood back, cheering him on, watching their liege stand over the writhing, screaming general. Tarkas relished in his enemy's pain, laughing and jeering as Maverick tried to recover his strength and stand. "You never did say, how did you get captured?" He asked, giving him another kick in the side. Maverick fell with the kick and struggled to his feet, face gushing blood. A weak chuckle escaped his lips as he tasted the iron in his veins. 

"I let myself". 

"I'm sorry, I think I don't understand. Is that an expression in Ilmitarian? A euphemism or something?" Maverick laughed fully now, shaking his head. His stance widened. 

"No. It-," he coughed. "It is not an expression. I wanted this." Tarkas tilted his head slightly, a flicker of concern shadowing his face. He stepped back, now off-put by his captive's sudden change in posture. Maverick stood a good head taller than Tarkas, who had not noticed this when he was on his knees. "Something... Something had to" maverick spat a blood clot onto the royal carpet that now lay stained beneath him. "Something had to be done."

A wind amidst the still night picked up, causing a sudden, loud rustle in the great fabric walls of the great hall. Maverick's fists clenched as he stood, staring at Emperor Tarkas with his one functional eye. The air around them seemed to snap slightly, like timber popping in a hearth. With a hiss, the banners and tapestries on the wall caught flame, the air now warping itself around Maverick like a desert horizon. Nobles fled and screeched as their robes caught in the consuming blaze now raging throughout the throne room, beams cracking and falling like burning meteors overhead. Flames ripped around the chamber, licking up anything and everything that burned. Maverick's wounds cauterized in the blaze, and the blood dried and hardened on the scars. Tarkas, eyes wide, stumbled in the chaos, barely protected by his armor from the heat coming off his captive. The manacles on Maverick's wrists began to glow forge-red. As he strode forward, they slipped off his wrists, slag burning their way onto the cracking tiles below. 

"Ah- Ih-Impossible! How-?" 

"Now. Now I will take up your perverse helm, and wearing it I will leave your empire in ruins. I will slay your god, and cast your people into the grave with you. But you, Tarkas, you alone will bear all this death. For you wrought all these things already." The emperor's only reply was a burning, gurgling scream. Maverick removed the dragon scale helmet of Tarkas, and as it left his skin, the magic poured into the vacuum where its protection once lay. That same thin grin overcame Maverick's face in his moment of triumph. He wrenched the armor off Tarkas, viscera and blood burning away with each piece, placing it on himself. Dismembered and charred, the bones of Tarkas would not survive the heat of his burning palace. Maverick, now clad in the scales of his fallen comrade, turned the gaze of his hatred towards the city and her people. It was time to end the war. 

~~

Maverick waded through the city in a long and winding path, his aura of immolation lighting the city ablaze. There was one thing left to do. Draw out Enletan, and slay the false god. Maverick knew the truth, and even if it was suicide, he would try. No one had fought a human who had lost themselves to magic and lived, but he did not need to live. 

Thousands cried out and fled as their city burned. Factories tumbled, and temples crumbled. Marketplaces turned to ash and were swept away, and anyone who did not flee was cremated where they stood. The fire moved too quickly for most, and soon screams intermingled with the cracking of burning wood and the rush of flame. Maverick strode forth as a star come to earth, blinding forge-heart radiance illuminating the city and sides of the valley, evaporating all who stood near him. They deserved this. The only thing that survived the flames was the dragon heads, trophies of their conquest, that lined the city parade street. There they would remain, charred but whole, as a reminder to those survivors who would rebuild. These animals earned this.

A crash of thunder sounded from the direction of the colossal ziggurat at the top of the valley. Light spilled out as the temple itself cracked open in the middle. An explosion rang out from it as humongous chunks of stone were launched from the walls of the ziggurat, falling like meteors across the city of Ixutur. Enletan had awoken.

Finally.

Maverick stood upon a hilltop and turned towards the temple, laughing, clad in the armor of his wrath. Golden light spilled from every direction as a humanoid figure stepped from nothing into the air in front of Maverick.

It was like a man, towering feet into the air, glistening tan skin flecked with gold, wearing armor of brass. A robe of perfect white silk, encrusted with glistening gemstones that flowed like water, hid a muscled body, and the head of a brightly feathered bird of prey leered down at Maverick, serrated beak clacking violently. Maverick heard no words, but his thoughts were pierced by those of Enletan, god of the empire and might. It's voice fell upon him like a thousand tongues in discord and endless shards of glass slicing through him, 

"My plans have only begun. Yet, you defy me, Maverick Duriel. I see into your heart and mind. You are not strong enough." Maverick rose into the air to stand face to face with the false god, blanketed by the smoke of the city burning. 

"My strength is irrelevant. I have seen your death long ago." Maverick stared at Enletan with his one, now glowing eye. The bird-headed god laughed. 

"You are delusional. If only you had been my servant, oh, the things we could have accomplished together. Oh well." Enletan raised a mighty glaive towards maverick, a flea before a giant. 

None who survived saw the fight between god and mortal. Those who witnessed their titanic struggle were unmade by their blinding clash. Deafening echoes of their combat could be heard far across the lands. Maverick's own forces turned in wonder, not knowing where Maverick had gone. After an hour, this ominous thunder ceased a brilliant flash illuminated the heavens for a split second, then silence and darkness settled once more on the nation of Tletl.

Enletan dragged himself back into the temple, wounded, bleeding molten ichor that carved a canyon into the city, reshaping and distorting the very land it fell upon. Maverick was knocked from the heavens like lightning, landing somewhere far from Ixutur. Neither his army, nor the scattered Tletlan forces, nor the dragons could find him. Ixutur fell that day, and now is known as Umthuwean, the Ashen City. 

Alone amidst debris, mangled trees and other vegetation, Maverick lay. His breath scraped as he fought for air, lungs weighed down with blood. The armor he wore was shattered, despite its craftsmanship. 

He could see the stars through the canopy of trees overhead, lightly obscured by smoke being blown towards the sea. He could hear the stars calling him. A smile spread across his face, caked in clot and char. His work was finished. Numbness crept across his form, not enough blood to retain feeling. His pain eased, his vision faded. In the last light of his consciousness, his skin sensed the snowy touch of ash, gently blanketing him. 

Darkness took Maverick, for it had its own plans for him. 

This story is not over.