Chapter 201: [Chapter - 201]
In a cavernous, subterranean audience hall, carved directly into the damp bedrock of the earth where water dripped methodically from the jagged stalactites hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
At the far end of the hall, elevated on a dais of polished obsidian, sat a throne carved from a single, massive piece of jagged iron.
Below that throne, a person wearing a 2-Horned Devil mask sat lost in deep thoughts.
He wore heavy robes of midnight blue, the cowl pushed back to reveal his mask, a bone-white visage of a grinning devil, distinguished by the two twisted, jagged horns curving upward from the forehead.
He sat in absolute silence, his gloved fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the stone.
He was not alone.
Standing at the base of the dais, bathed in the sickly green light, were two figures.
They were wrapped in heavy cloaks of tattered, dark velvet, but the fabric could not hide the horrifying reality of their existence.
They stood within a swirling aura of dark, necrotic magic, a miasma of grey smoke that clung to their bodies like a second skin, humming with forbidden, unholy energy.
It was Lord Caelum and the famous Lady Aliana Dargan.
But they were no longer the arrogant, pampered nobles who had once ruled Auravale. They looked like they have been through a hellish nightmare.
When Leo had thrown them into the dungeon, he had thrown them to 'The Dregs', the hulking, mindless, sexually depraved brutes kept by the Blackfangs.
What the Dregs had done to the father and daughter in the dark was unspeakable.
They had been broken, violated, and beaten until their bodies were little more than ruined meat and shattered bones. They should have died in the filth of those cells.
But the Blood Oath Syndicate did not let useful tools go to waste.
The Syndicate's warlocks had infiltrated the dungeon. They helped them escape that brutal humiliation onslaught to their bodies and brought them both to their headquarters.
Caelum's face was a gaunt, hollow skull stretched tight with grey, rotting skin. His eyes were completely black, devoid of whites, burning with a singular, maddening hatred.
Thick, pulsing black veins crawled up his neck, pumping necrotic energy through a heart that had been irrevocably tainted by dark blood rituals.
Beside him, Aliana was even worse. The once-beautiful, spoiled girl was a patchwork of horrors. Her jaw hung slightly askew, held in place by dark magical sutures.
Her blonde hair was matted with dried blood and grave dirt. But the most terrifying thing about her was her expression.
The spoiled brat was gone. In her place her eyes looked hollow, as she stared in nothingness.
She twitched constantly, her fingers curling into claws, her lips pulled back in a perpetual, silent snarl.
They were not dead, though they looked like ghouls.
They were broken vessels whose spirits had been shattered, their living bodies corrupted by the Syndicate's dark necromancy.
They had willingly offered their blood to the dark arts, fuelled entirely by their insatiable need for revenge against the man who ruined it all for them, Leo Dragomir and the cheating bitch, Seraphine.
Just then the heavy iron doors at the entrance of the cavern groaned open, the sound echoing like a dying beast.
A massive figure was escorted into the hall by two 1-Horn cultists.
It was a fox beast Zarthian Warrior, who unusually for his tribe stood over eight feet tall.
But he was injured right now. His left arm ended in a cauterised stump where his hand used to be.
Three of his fingers had been cleanly severed from his remaining right hand.
The left side of his face was a mess of scarred tissue where his ear had been brutally sliced away.
He was the lone survivor who has somehow managed to escape the onslaught from Leo, Belladonna and the twenty or so Blackfang Bandits.
And now after escaping and riding non stop for a day and night and killing 1 mount in the process, he was now standing in front of Blood Oath commander, acting as the personal Emissary for Warchief Vorath.
The Emissary walked forward, his heavy boots splashing in the puddles, his face a mask of stoic pain.
He finally stopped ten paces from the dais, refusing to bow to the masked man on the throne. He cast a look of utter disgust at the two rotting, corrupted nobles standing near the steps.
"You called for the ear of the Blood-Axe," the Emissary rumbled, his voice thick with his guttural accent. "Speak your words, mask-wearer. I have a long journey back."
The 2-Horn Commander stopped tapping his fingers. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his mask grinning down at the giant, "You are a haughty one for someone who just got wiped out."
"Don't dilly-dally. I am not in the mood," The Fox-kin narrowed his eyes. He clearly wasn't pleased.
"Very well then," The 2 horned commanders threw his arms as he spoke.
"We share a common enemy, Emissary," the Commander continued, "Leo Dragomir. He killed you bunch. He ruined our plan. And the Lord and the Lady as well..." The commander said, gesturing at Caelum and Aliana.
He did not have to complete, the state of Caelum and Aliana was enough proof to suggest what happened to them.
The Commander gestured gracefully with a gloved hand.
"My Syndicate has resources. We have eyes and ears inside the stone walls of Auravale."
"So?" The Fox-kin crossed his arms across his chest.
"So I would like to offer a mutually beneficial arrangement."
The Emissary looked interested, "What sort of arrangement?"
"We will pave the way," the Commander promised, "Using our... assets,"
"We can poison the city's deep wells with a slow-acting necrotic rot."
"We can burn their granary."
"We can sabotage the central gate mechanisms."
"We can do whatever you want." The Commander said spreading his arms wide.
"We will hand you the city on a silver platter. All Warchief Vorath has to do is march his grand army as soon as possible."
"Crush the Usurper beneath your boots, slaughter his Blackfang mercenaries, and you can have all the gold."
"And in return?" the Zarthian asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"In return," the Commander replied, "We require three things."
"First, the head of Leo Dragomir."
"Second, the woman known as Lady Seraphine. We wish to study her... unique lightning magic."
"Third, we want Lord Caelum here to take control of the city again."
"Other than that, you may take the rest of the city, the women, and the wealth. And then you leave."
Caelum let out a raspy, gargling hiss of agreement, his black eyes fixing hungrily on the empty air.
The cavern fell silent, waiting for the giant's response.
The mutilated Zarthian stared at the masked Commander for a long, tense moment.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed.
It was a harsh, barking sound, completely devoid of humour. It echoed off the stalactites, mocking the solemnity of the dark chamber.
"You think Warchief Vorath is a fool?" the Emissary sneered, spitting a glob of phlegm onto the stone floor near Caelum's boots.
The Commander's posture stiffened, "I assume he is a Warlord who answers insults with blood."
"The Blood-Axe is enraged," the Emissary confirmed, his one good hand forming a fist, "He wishes to peel the skin from the Usurper's bones."
"He wishes to drink from his skull. But Vorath did not unite the bloody plains of Zarth by being a rash, stupid dog who chases every thrown stick."
The giant took a step forward, glaring up at the throne.
"Zarth is not ready yet," the Emissary declared.
The Emissary reached into his loincloth and pulled out a heavy pouch of gold, the bribe the Syndicate had sent to arrange this meeting. He tossed it casually. It landed with a heavy clatter at the base of the dais.
"Auravale will burn. The Usurper will die screaming. But only after the Kingdom of Zarth is fully secured under the Blood-Axe's heel," the Emissary said with a cruel smirk.
The giant turned his back on the Commander.
"Deal with your own Usurper until then, mask-wearer," the Emissary threw over his shoulder as he walked towards the iron doors, "Do not call for us again. We will come when we are ready."
The heavy doors ground open, and the Zarthian vanished into the dark tunnels, leaving the Syndicate to their rotting hall.
The 2-Horn Commander sat in silence for a long time. He then slowly turned his masked face towards the base of the dais.
He looked at Lord Caelum, who was vibrating with anxious, necrotic energy. He looked at Lady Aliana, whose golden hair was stained brown, her jaw twitching as she imagined tearing Leo's throat out with her bare teeth.
The Commander let out a slow, cold sigh that misted in the freezing air.
"It seems the barbarians lack the courage for a swift execution," the Commander murmured, standing up. He walked down the steps, stopping directly in front of the corrupted nobles.
He reached out, his gloved hand tracing the rotting, stitched skin of Aliana's cheek. She didn't flinch. She just stared at him with deadpan eyes.
"If the Zarthian hammer refuses to strike the gates," the Commander whispered, his voice dripping with dark, malicious intent.
"Then we will simply have to use the Dargan dagger to bleed Auravale from the inside."