LAST RITES: DIVINE INTERVENTION

A Dark Fantasy by Corey J. McKenzie

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Once upon a time in a land you never heard of….

Dwendleheim, capital of Drekken, the most powerful empire in the land, used to be such a glorious city in the earlier days. Thousands of people had called it home, double in the spring and fall during the trading seasons, and even more when the wild game was plentiful. The city was large enough that if one stood at one end, they could not see the other. What they would have seen, though, was hundreds of the well-constructed houses of fine wood and stone, looking so cozy and safe, keeping the people secure and warm, even on the coldest winter nights. The great city even had some of the main roads covered in stone, instead of dirt. The townsfolk used to be well-dressed in the silks and other fine clothes of the west, and the leathers and furs from the south. It used to look like such a peaceful city with people riding in decorated carriages, going back and forth to the city market where anything in the world could be found and purchased for the right price. The streets used to have people scattered across them as they made their way through the chores of the day visiting the baker, the farmer’s market, the shoemaker, the blacksmith, or other such places.

Castle Wolfgar, which towered over the city, crept up the hill on the far side of the valley and was famous the world over. It was seen as one of the most magnificent structures in the known world, and it had taken generations to complete. It was unimaginably large with towers at the corners that would almost get lost in the clouds on some days. There was a small village of people who lived inside; many have never seen the outside of it. The castle consisted of three floors with living quarters granted based on importance, those with more important jobs would reside on the higher floors. The main floor consisted of the throne room and other rooms designed for the royalty that lived within.

The defense came from a large wall that surrounded the castle, the houses, the shops, and the market. The wall was made of stone with massive logs tied in the corners for support. It had taken almost as long to build as the time spent building the massive castle, but in Dwendleheim’s early days the land was very untamed and the early kings insisted on its construction to provide safety for the capital and its people.

People still travel for days just to see Dwendleheim, the capital of Drekken, the most powerful nation in the world, but now, it is such a disappointment. This city, once known for its greatness, is far from the place described in stories told in far-off lands like Ellisburg, Natamar or Sovine. The once-glamorous stone and wood houses look like shacks with the wood rotting over time and the stone crumbling from lack of maintenance. The people, who used to be such proud folk, walk the streets, littered with garbage and filth, with their heads hanging low in disgust, wondering if they will have the pleasure of dying in their sleep. They used to be well-dressed, but now they are clothed in rags and some even walk around barefoot. People lay in the streets knowing they have nowhere to go, their homes taken away for not keeping up with ever-growing taxes. Whole families stand on the side of the road begging for change or scraps of food from the travelers who still frequent the city, only now they come for the markets, infamous for buying and selling stolen goods or slaves.

A person who lived in Dwendleheim for many years could tell stories of the glorious days of the capital of Drekken, with a strong and mighty wall protecting the city from the invasions of the outside world. Anyone who lives there now will tell you of how the great wall traps them inside this prison-like society with a ruthless king watching from the once awesome, now declining, Castle Wolfgar. The city never had a run-down section of broken homes and soiled streets, but this description now suits the city as a whole. Poverty was not a word known to many, but with the ever-increasing tax rates set by a greedy ruler, the city is steadily declining and the people living in poverty now make up the majority.

The old king, a king who will be remembered as one of the ones that made Dwendleheim a city everyone wanted to call home, King Asgad Wolfgar, is dead. His eyes permanently closed shut, close to 10 years ago, and his son, King Asgad Wolfgar II, had taken the throne, and the city has been in a steady decline ever since. Asgad Wolfgar II was an only child, making his sole heir to the throne, his birth causing the death of his mother. There was not a queen, or fellow siblings to slow down his reign of terror or squash his greed. When Asgad Wolfgar saw the people were suffering, he would lower the taxes to accommodate, because he believed it was the people, not the gold, that made his empire so glorious. This logic is what made Drekken such a fantastic place to live, but his son did not agree with this train of thought. King Asgad Wolfgar II and his need for wealth and power, has now taxed many of those same people, almost to death.

The area around Dwendleheim, the Great Forests of Drekken as it is known in other parts, hasn’t declined like the city, but instead, its magnificence continues to grow. The rolling landscape stretches beyond the horizon with giant cliffs, massive trees, roaring rivers, and clean, clear lakes. No matter what forces of nature came upon these lands, it was able to survive, and many believe that was due to magical forces radiating from Uniko Forest, a land of such concentrated magic, it mutates in form and constantly creates new creatures and life, even changing the layout of the land and the size and shapes of the trees.

There were so many adventures waiting to be had for all who dared to venture beyond the confines of their home, which many have done, trekking across these lands in search of their dreams. The Drekken Empire was still a glorious thing in many ways, but it was rotting at the core, its center being Dwendleheim, home to the king.

When he became king, Asgad Wolfgar II released half of the people employed by his father, deeming them useless and sending them out to fend for themselves or forced into the growing army the king was constructing. The gold and profits from the kingdom were not spread across the kingdom, but instead, hoarded away by the greedy king, as one of the greatest cities in civilization began its steady decline.

There were not as many patrol guards making sure the townsfolk were safe from the increase of violence within the city walls. Houses were broken into and nobody was safe on the streets at night. A few of the businesses in the city were able to survive, but their places were landmarks with walls that have seen people from around the world. Ask any traveler in the land where to get the best ale and good night's rest and they would tell you, “That would be the Stable, the inn and tavern in Dwendleheim. Best damn ale and women ever.” But, it took strong-hearted folk to run places like the Stable, the weapon shop, the food stores and others. It meant offering services at affordable prices while trying to keep up with the increasing taxes and poverty levels; however, even these hard workers doing all they can not save the city from transforming a place When the sun went down at night, townsfolk knew they were likely to see a couple more dead bodies in the street when it rose again the next morning. If the robberies, murder, and muggings were not bad enough, it seemed like every day another house would be boarded up by the Drekken army, and the residents hauled off to the Great Dungeon. It seemed like the only person ever destined to find happiness here was the king, himself.

LAST RITES: DIVINE INTERVENTION

Introduction: Re-Birth of Evil

“Follow me, my children, into the loving arms of Solsera.” Standing on a wooden platform in a grassy clearing surrounded by large oak trees, he speaks to the small crowd in front of him with his arms raised to the skies, the people hanging on his every word. He has long, untamed brown hair with visible grey hair eager to dominate. His beard looks trimmed and neat and his face has a gentle appearance, but is wise with age. He wears a bluish-black long shirt that extends to his knees, almost touching his brown leather boots. A silver scarf is slung around his neck, not tied, just hanging.

“You are surrounded by the evil of Hellexius!” The small crowd applause and cheers on the man as he continues, eagerly anticipating his next words. “I, Thelonius, have been chosen to teach you more about the greatness of Solsera and what he means to you.” More people enter the clearing as Thelonius continues to speak, drawn by the sight of the crowd and taken in by the priest’s words. “The world is filled with good and evil, but the side of evil grows stronger every day, disrupting the balance and tipping the scales in its favor.” He raises the sound of his voice to be heard over the growing crowd standing before him. “I have traveled these lands to spread the message, hate and greed are ruling our people and destroying us. We should be united together as one with each doing what he can for someone else.” The crowd erupts into cheers once again.

“What if someone won’t join us?” asks a voice from amongst the crowd.

“Show faith, patience, forgiveness, and acceptance and everyone will come in good time. Share the love of Solsera with all and embrace those who surround you. If they have chosen to walk a different path, do not let them deter you. Show them love, for the lost ones are the ones who need love the most.” Thelonius pauses and looks out across the sea of faces showing nothing on the outside, but gleaming with pride on the inside. Solsera’s word is being heard. “It is our union with each other that will allow us to conquer the evils that approach. Every day a stronger evil is born and we must grow as well, accepting those around us for what they are. It is with this bond that our strengths become stronger and our weakness is vanquished.”

Thelonius turns his back to the crowd and pauses for a moment before continuing in a more solemn voice. “The evil belongs on our streets no more.” The crowd erupts into the loudest cheers yet. “Hellexius is not the way. Solsera is the way.” He turns around and faces the crowd repeating this phrase until the crowd begins a chant joining him in unison. Thelonius continues his speech, now with much more enthusiasm. “Once death comes to hate and greed, Hellexius will lose his power and his grasp on mankind. He will try and conquer us with the usage of his servants of black magic. Have no fear. The power of Solsera will triumph!”

“The power of Solsera will triumph!” yells the crowd back, echoing the words of their spiritual leader.

“Now you understand!” Thelonius hollers back. “When we stand by each other, nothing can take us down. The taxes of King Asgad are not enough to break us. We will help our neighbors through these times of trouble and through our love and togetherness, we become stronger.”

The coffin barely survived the funeral. The cheaply constructed box started falling apart when the first chunk of dirt landed on it, falling from the undertaker’s shovel. The body inside was done with the first spirit it encased in its shell, but it would not be the last spirit to find this body home.

The rock soars through the air and connects with the side of the skull. The pointy edges cut through the skin on impact causing a squirt of blood to fly through the air and drop on a cart filled with homemade carvings of wood and bone formed into religious symbols pertaining to the dark lord, Hellexius. The victim drops to the ground and five men surround him. One of the men flips over the cart sending the sculptures to the ground, shattering into pieces as they hit. The feet begin raining down on the peddler and one of the attackers begins to hammer the peddler in the face with a fistful of steel. 

“We told you to quit selling this stuff around here, Mageem!” The five stop their vicious flailing and form a circle around the wounded man. His face is covered in blood, his nose shattered and his eyes are swollen. 

“Hellexius will rise again,” says Mageem, barely able to get the words out before the five resume their savage beating.

“You only speak lies,” laughs one of the attackers before spitting down on the beaten man. 

“Hellexius is all-powerful.” Beaten, but persistent, he continues on. “Where is your spirit of good? Why does he hide while his people suffer? Does he even exist?”

“I’ll show you, disrespectful swine. Hold him down.” Four of the men reach down at Mageem, each grabbing a limb, pinning him to the ground as the fifth man stands over him. “I will not kill you, for you do not deserve the pleasures that come with death.” The man drops his pants and begins to urinate on the beaten man to even his ally’s disgust. The group of attackers kick Mageem a few more times and then run off into the night, leaving him in a pool of blood and urine.

Mageem tries to bring himself to his feet but he crashes back down, muscles too sore to apply the effort of rising to his feet. They have beaten him before for seeing his artifacts of Hellexius, but never this severely. Blackness comes and his dreams are flooded by thoughts of showing these people how powerful his dark lord really is.

The white rabbit crosses the field darting away from the predator which means to have him for dinner. The woodland creature comes to a halt beside a wooden tombstone, bearing the name “Mageem”, when it notices the snarling beast pursuing it is too large to fit through the fence separating the graves from the forest, and it feels safe surrounded by the protective barrier; however, the rabbit is not safe. Neither is the wolf, sticking his head through the fence gnashing in anger at its lost supper, nor is any creature in the forest or anyone in Drekken. The pinkie finger on the right hand of one of the bodies buried ben twitches.

In a small area of the forest surrounding Dwendleheim, outside the confines of the mighty wall, there is a river with a fork in it with a small dock and a boat only big enough for one man, secured tightly beside it. The water is calm and the blue radiance of the moonlight creates a peaceful atmosphere, even though the night air is crisp and cold. In his hut, the man kneels naked on the floor with a small cloth across his lap, resting on it, a dagger with a blade the length of his hand with carvings of foreign-looking symbols. The handle is made to resemble a claw of some animal with more etchings throughout.

Mageem knows what the scratches and strange markings represent, his people being followers of Hellexius since the beginning of time. When the armies came to his village, in the country of Sovine, he fled north, Dagger of Hellexius in hand to preserve it from destruction. Since then he has tried to make a life for himself in Dwendleheim, selling his artifacts pertaining to his unholy spirit, without much success. Every day it has been the same thing, thugs destroying his goods and beating him half to death. Last time they almost killed him. They should have finished the job.

He begins mumbling a verse not chanted for hundreds of years, taught through the generations to the first-born male of his family, a tradition dating back to when the Dagger of Hellexius was discovered by one of the village hunters. It is said. If one is true to Hellexius when the dagger buries the blade in the belly of the one speaking the sacred verses, the power of Anaxis will be handed to them. Anaxis was the leader of Hellexius’ army of lost souls until he lost a battle to the Warriors of Solsera. Hellexius sealed the powerful Anaxis inside of the ritual dagger and there he was to wait until he was reawakened by the powers through sacrificial ritual.

Mageem finishes the words and stabs the blade into his stomach. He slices the razor-sharp steel across his belly and stares in awe as his intestines and internal organs fall to the floor. He begins to laugh in disbelief of reality while reaching his hand into the wound and pulling his own body parts out, feeling the warm blood on his hands. His moment of bliss ends and the body slumps over dead on the floor.

The right pinkie twitches again. The face, in the early stages of decomposing, begins to contort and the eyelids spring open showing deep red circles. The corpse begins lurching around in the wooden tomb buried beneath the earth, as the muscles once again have the ability to flex and stretch. Claws rip through the fingertips, growing at a rapid pace, scraping away at the flesh.

Frantically, it begins the attack on what is lef of the container meant to hold the remains of the dead mortal, the shell where he was reborn. Shoveling the dirt aside, he climbs until finally, he breaks free. Once on the surface, it completes the process of shedding away the old body, exposing the blackish-red skin beneath. The claws peel away the old skin tissue like a snake shedding its skin. It peels and scrapes at its face, gashing its own skin trying to peel away the last remaining pieces. 

Even though his intelligence exceeds the average human, it takes Anaxis some time to become aware of his surroundings. It has been years since the pointed nails dug into the surface as he started to sprint. It has been some time since he felt the branches whipping against his skin as he ran through the forest. It has been over a century since he hunted his prey. The hands reach down and grab the furry woodland critter into the hands of death. It has been way too long since he tasted the fresh blood of the kill. The teeth rip through the flesh of the creature and it lets out a wail across the forest sending a flock of sleeping birds to awake and fly off into the distance.

“Kill the priest so he can longer spread his lies!” yells a voice from the crowd. They have gathered in this clearing not far from the great city. They surround a gallows which was recently constructed, and the moon shines down on the grim structure, the rope around the next of its first victims. Dwendleheim wasn’t the right location for such an event to take place, even someone as cruel as King Asgad would frown upon the deeds being committed tonight. “The people of Dwendleheim have been led into a false sense of hope because of his misdoings.”

It was only this morning when a crowd of people was singing the praises of Solsera and following the priest, Thelonius, through the streets. He was a shepherd and he had his flock and it was glorious for a period of time, but now fate has played a cruel trick on him. The only other person on the stage stands silently with his back facing the crowd. He is dressed in black silks and leather with long black hair extending down the back of his long red coat.

“I say we burn the bastard!” hollers a female from the crowd.

“My words were supposed to inspire and spread the good word of Solsera,” says the one with the rope around his neck. “My death only brings me one step closer to the hands of Solsera. I, unlike yourselves, will be saved. You can save yourselves by setting me free and forsaking Hellexius.”

“You are going nowhere and you have wasted the only life you have, fool!” Another voice from the crowd taunts him. “Solsera leads you to the life of a slave and now, even in death, you still will not be free.”

The words Thelonius has been struggling with his entire life to prove to be untrue keep repeating as the crowd continues yelling. Thelonius always hoped that one-day Solsera would guide those who believed in a happier place and take them away from the wicked evils of the world. Dying is his prayers being answered. The priest welcomes the experience instead of fearing the moment. The platform beneath his feet drops open and Thelonius’ human life is immediately terminated at the snap of his neck. The crowd cheers in excitement believing the word of Solsera is one step closer to being extinguished.

“Hellexius does not take to the spirits of the helpless or the weak.” It would seem the brooding figure on the stage who stands beside the dangling Thelonius is a stranger to these lands, but in reality, he watched it be created. “There has been a good sign as of late. Anaxis walks the earth again.” The crowd cheers end and an awkward silence fills the air. They know of the warrior named Anaxis, who led Hellexius’s army to war against Solsera’s sacred dragons. It was a war told in stories from days gone by, in a time nobody alive today would be around to remember.

“How have you come across this knowledge, stranger! I think you don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“Is there doubt in your voice?” The stranger on the stage turns around and holds his hand out to the younger man standing in the front row who spoke out. “My child, come to me. You and all these people will see why there are so many reasons to believe the return of Anaxis is a reality.” The young male reaches out and grasps the hand of the stranger, who pulls him up onto the platform.

“Prove to me Anaxis walks the earth.” The male stares fearlessly at the stranger.

“Do you have faith in Hellexius, my boy?” The stranger walks right up to the member of the crowd and stares deeply into his eyes. “Do you believe me when I say I have spoken to the spirits myself? You want your proof that Anaxis walks again?” The stranger turns his back on the man, but only for a moment.

The fist flies towards the skull with devastating results on impact. The knuckles and fingers push through the mush and the lifeless body falls back towards the crowd, who back away to avoid the falling corpse.

“He crushed his skull with one punch!” exclaims a voice from the crowd, looking down at the concave face of the deceased.

The crowd looks up at Anaxis, standing on the stage, now in true form; blood-red skin, rippling muscles, long black mane, razor sharp teeth, long black nails and a gaze of pure evil directed towards the crowd. 

“If someone doubts the power of Hellexius, kill them.” His words come across as instructions and the tone shows he is not to be questioned again by any of the mortals present. “The time for action is now. We must extinguish our lands of the followers of Solsera to make way for the arrival of Hellexius. Join me. The world is ours.”