Azela Incarnate

Chief Nenyix believed that a great army would one day march across the land, a wave of death and destruction made of the scattered remnants of a fallen god. The image of many conquered and traitorous clans, united once more and marching under Sierrix's banner, kept the aerie vigilant for years, awaiting their eventual arrival.

Such a force was never seen. After a time, it became doubtful if the enemy’s approach could be seen at all, even if they did. A low fog began to creep across the land, obscuring much of the world and refusing to leave. Each day it grew higher and farther than before, clinging to the world like a rising flood. Wind that came from its direction carried damp air and strange smells, but no wind proved strong enough to drive it away.

Initially, it was not seen as a threat; the aerie was high above it. Life continued much as it always had. What did it matter if the weather was strange? It had been stranger before. However, within a few seasons, the aerie's hunters noticed that they were returning with less and less to show for their efforts. After a few years, they started to return with nothing. The sounds of the forest below faded further into silence with each passing month. Fresh tracks became a rarity, while strange signs of unfamiliar beasts began to appear to those that traveled far enough.

On the sixteenth anniversary of Eviscera’s hatching, the fog blanketed most of the land that could be seen from the aerie. As predicted, she had grown to become nearly as feared as the divine incarnations. Chief Nenyix would have been proud to see her, if he could. He had vanished months ago, along with the shaman and several of their hunters, as they ventured out to find new hunting grounds. Although Eviscera could no longer fulfill Nenyix's wish to win the role through combat, she became the acting chieftain.

Her title was given during the worst year of the clan's existence. Strange diseases soon spread among the remaining cattle and crops, not only killing the infected but poisoning those that ate them. Growing hunger became impossible to ignore as food stores dwindled with alarming speed. Careful rationing delayed the inevitable, but every meal became smaller, reminding them of how little remained.

"There is always cannibalism," said Saer as they discussed the matter. The blunt suggestion brought forth whispers among those standing in the grand hall. Eviscera looked to the girl, her advisor and adopted sister, but didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if she hadn't already considered it, but Saer was the first brave enough to speak the words.

Saer stood in her proper place next to the throne on which Eviscera sat. The young girl was much like Eviscera in both appearance and mind, save for her bright blue eyes and the scattering of freckles across her skin. She held no official title, but Eviscera regarded her opinions highly enough to keep her close whenever a decision was to be made.

The young chieftain's gaze turned back to the hallowed, hungry faces gathered before her in the grand hall, where one of the men reminded her, "Some have already died of starvation."

Another said, "Chief Nenyix warned us we may have to give our lives to lend you our power and knowledge. We could sacrifice a few at a time and divide their remains among those that are left." His words sent murmurs rippling through the assembly.

Before the strange fog, many had been willing to sacrifice themselves, to live on as part of Eviscera, in order to defeat Sierrix. Their resolve had never wavered when the enemy carried a face and a name. But this was different. Few doubted that Sierrix was somehow behind it, but their numbers had thinned so much, and no amount of physical power could strike down the creeping fog or the hunger it brought. Such sacrifices would be in vain.

A slow breath escaped Eviscera. "Have any scouts returned?"

Saer said, "You would already know."

Eviscera's frustrated growl echoed faintly beneath the high ceiling before fading into silence. "And what is the logical end to this plan? I, as the lone survivor, travel to this tower Sierrix is said to be building, and either vanish like our scouts or face her entire army alone in vengeance?"

They fell silent as a loud explosion shook the walls, followed by another. Uneasy glances darted toward the great doors as a third impact echoed through the hall. Then came distant shouts and sounds of sudden chaos.

Before Eviscera could give a command, the main doors burst open. One of the watchmen stumbled inside and shouted, "Monsters! Monsters and men with chains and cages! Approaching from the east! They're rising out of the fog!"

Eviscera stood and smiled, eyes blazing again after days of despair. "Finally, a problem I can kill! Ring the bells and sound the war horn! Then everyone with me! We go to battle!"

The assembly fell in line and rushed to meet the intruders, gathering more allies along the way. In the aerie, there was little distinction between citizen and soldier. The massive bells of the watchmen's towers and the call of the war horn brought every able-bodied denizen from their caves, towers, and workplaces. Boots and bare clawed feet pounded against worn stone paths as the growing force hurried toward the eastern edge of the settlement.

Anticipation gave way to confusion as the unfamiliar figures came into view. Instead of Sierrix's forces, they found a few grotesque monstrosities under the command of wingless, featherless men and women. There were no claws on the hands of the invaders, no fur or scales on their skin. Eviscera knew them for what they were but had never seen them with her own eyes. Humans? On Eon?

Thus began the most horrible hour of Eviscera's life.

~ ❖ ~

Catherine helped Rachael pull a woman from under a fallen stone wall, nearly losing her footing on cobblestones slick with what she hoped wasn't her blood. The woman's weak groan let them know she was still alive. One of the woman's arms lay at an angle that arms were not meant to be. Rachael lowered herself and began to examine the wounds. Somewhere close by, stone grated against stone as another wall shifted and threatened to give way.

Catherine looked around. Most of the damage to structures was from magic, not the thing that Azela had become. Many of the victims were casualties of magical attacks as well, spells thrown in panic and carelessness that had missed their intended mark. At least the destroyed buildings could be rebuilt; destroyed lives could not.

She saw charred skin, limbs that had been shattered rather than cut, and wounds from various conjured beasts that went wild with the death of their summoner. One had drowned on dry land, another had been crushed by the street itself. Catherine forced herself not to look away, though her stomach twisted at each new way magic revealed the fragility of flesh and bone.

Somewhere distant, a tremor rolled through the ground.

Several academy students were helping the injured, but none of them appeared to be injured themselves, thankfully. Water and medical supplies were being passed around as they moved from one wounded survivor to the next. It was the right move, to deal with the fallout instead of trying to face down the source of all this, and adding to the list of victims.

Most of the dead had been piled up on one side of the street to make room. Catherine could see that, at first, they tried to lay them out neatly in rows, but the dreg's kills were too messy to tell which parts of which bodies belonged together. Flies had begun to gather on the uncovered piles, but anything that could be used as blankets or bandages was reserved for the living.

"I'd love to stay and help, but I have to try to put a stop to this," Catherine said as she wiped her palms against her thighs. Her heart told her that the horrors before her couldn't have come from the woman she loved, but her mind thought back to all of the times she had seen Azela's inhuman strength and speed firsthand. She wouldn't even need her new claws to do what she did here.

Rachael did not look up at once. "I don't think this one is going to live," she said, resting her hand upon the victim's shoulder. She was clearly exhausted, and her eyes held the blankness of someone who had seen too much death in one day. The breath of the woman beneath her fingers had become shallow. To Catherine, it was a reminder that she was wasting her time here.

"You said you were a healer. I know nothing of healing magic, beyond perhaps summoning another spellcaster to do it for me." Catherine's grip tightened around the hilt at her side as she glanced toward the east. Azela needed her, and yet she was hesitating. Someone had to remind her beloved of who she was, and bring her back.

Somewhere behind her, another cry rose and then fell silent.

"Healing magic… healing magic is of no use here." Rachael stood up as two other students arrived to look after the woman. She lowered her head for a moment before meeting Catherine's gaze again.

"What? Why not? I may not have the skill, but if it's a matter of power, then perhaps I can help you channel mana." Catherine stepped closer and put a hand on Rachael's arm.

"No amount of power or skill would help," said Rachael. "Healing magic has to be used in moderation. It works by causing cells to divide rapidly. The problem is that any healing spell will inevitably try to overcorrect… and become cancerous. When someone is too injured, healing magic isn't an option. They'd be trading wounds for tumors."

Something caught Catherine's eye. A little girl that only she could see was standing in the street, pointing east. No one else so much as glanced in that direction.

"I really have to go; I'm useless in a place like this," she said to Rachael. "I'm no healer. I need a problem I can kill. Your family should be safe; take care of yourself." Her hand slipped from Rachael's arm, reluctant to let go entirely.

Rachael did not ask, but assumed what Catherine planned to do. "Are you sure it's wise, pitting one weapon of mass destruction against another?"

"It may be the only way to stop this." Her fingers curled tighter around the hilt at her hip.

"You know what this is, don't you? And you're not telling."

Catherine didn't answer. What would Rachael say, if she knew? Would she want Catherine to try to save Azela, or put her down for good? Was it too late, even if she could be saved? There was no forgiving genocide. There was no going back. Right now, Rachael's reaction would be more than she could bear, so she didn't say anything.

"That there," Rachael said, pointing to one of the corpses. "That was one of my instructors. He was the most powerful mage I have ever known. If someone told me he could raise a mountain into the sky, I might have believed them." She looked into Catherine's eyes. "You're going to die. Just like him."

"I won't," she said firmly, refusing to let the doubt show.

Rachael stepped forward. She nearly had to stand on her toes for her lips to reach Catherine's cheek. When she pulled back, her eyes glistened. She said, "I remember when I was the taller one. If you do live, try not to get hurt so bad that I have to give you cancer." Then she sighed. "I'll be missing you, again."

Someone called Rachael's name. Catherine watched her go before turning herself, knowing that one way or the other, this was the last time they would ever see each other.