All the numbers, all the calculations had to be reconfigured. Dundale Stoutfoot raked his fingers through his beard once again, staring at the assortment of numbers listed on the papers in front of him and heaved a sigh.
While the vanishing of the Mark had become a celebrated event in the halls of New Romai– prompting lustrous feasts and increased morale and more adherents to the Dominion sect– all of his calculations for accounting for the constant onslaught of Marked foes had to be altered. More space could be devoted to rations, blood caches and phlebotomy equipment, and the ever present need for gallons upon gallons of ale. He could request a commission for another cart, but the crustrogan selection was harder to increase without adding years of waiting for the great armored beasts to molt and mature enough to haul one. That and the food needed to sustain the beasts of burden already weighed down half a cart.
Dundale might have felt exhausted in recalculating in such a short amount of time, but the excitement of breaching the surface dulled any fatigue. The only thing known about the Marked Land's surface as of now was that everything that had been infected had been dissolved into useless dust. Dust Storms were also adding on the need for tarps to keep supplies properly covered. Even so, the new frontier of a wasteland made Dundale's heart race. At last, the dwarves would reclaim their Pillar God-stolen birthright to the surface!
He took out a new paper and made a concise list of adjustments and work orders, then stood from his designated desk. He found one of Lord Megad's attendants and gave the Incher the sheet, instructing him to only pass it along to Rhetweld and keep the radio silent on such matters. Lord Megad was passively encouraging the dwarves of thoughts of the surface, but jumping too quickly into an expedition might come across as forceful. Dundale trusted the Vampire Lord to properly introduce the idea once all the supplies were ready.
Until then, Dundale was sinking comfortably into his new position as task master for the Dominion Lord. His golden pin never left his shoulder unless it was time to sleep, and the others he worked with were beginning to see past his Stoutfoot name. How strange that the worst tragedy to happen to New Romai should have been such a boost for his own career. He bowed his helmeted head to keep himself humble in the face of all the lives lost.
With his most pressing work done and underlings already creating reports of how progress on different crafting and recruiting was going, Dundale left his office to search for his superior, Wurmdring Gleamhilt. The high-ranked vampire was still being kept largely from the public until Lord Megad deemed it suitable to show off the nearly undying warrior off as the newly appointed General of the Conquest. Until then, however, Wurmdring frequented Lord Megad's private rooms and offices.
It had been shocking that the Long Lords sought to commend Wurmdring for his failure to protect the Outworlders from Hoplite, rather than punish him. Lord Telegad's throne itself had collapsed into the Bloodpool, but the Long Lord hardly seemed flustered about it at the time. The Long Lords all seemed to understand that Hoplite was a foe that only the three of them would be able to handle at this point, after they'd awoken from their long rest, they'd been ready to intercept him. Yet in the month and a half since Hoplite had vanished, he'd not returned to wreak any more havoc. Despite his apparent absence, the Long Lords did not drop their guard. They wanted Hoplite dead for the death toll he'd inflicted upon the Romai, as did Dundale and Wurmdring, of course.
He knocked and entered into the familiar office and found the highly ranked guard surrounded by younger vampires. The procession seemed to be having some trouble about something, as soft curses and grunts of effort rose from them. Abruptly, Wurmdring raised his arms and bellowed, "Enough of this nonsense! Go place the order already."
His attendants bowed and backed off. Dundale examined the vampires, but found nothing to indicate what the trouble had been. He addressed his superior with a salute, followed by a deep bow, "The newest numbers have been calculated and sent out, my general. Once they are approved and logistics are satisfactory, the supplies will be gathered. My estimates run on about a month, if not a month and a half, out from breaching the surface world."
"Yes, yes, good work." The old vampire said distractedly. He pulled at his plate armor and garb with a hiss of annoyance.
The outfit seemed to have shrunk against Wurmdring's frame. No, rather, some part of the vampire had grown. Dundale fought to hide his confusion. Dwarven bodies weren't supposed to undergo much if any changes after being blessed with vampirism. Why was it then that the general was outgrowing his old suit of armor? His gaze lingered on the glowing golden eyes and felt a shiver run up his spine. There had to be a connection.
"As you were, Dundale," the vampire spoke.
"Of course, sir." He bowed again and left Wurmdring to his problems.
Kid'ka gasped as he looked around, eyes wide as he beheld the majesty of what must have been Zodd's realm. A field of brilliant white flowers surrounded him, a majestic cloud streaked sky stretching out overhead, and most imposingly, a statue of Zodd himself sat in a throne made of reflective metal, crimson eyes staring down at the field. It towered over everything, hovering above a seemingly infinite void of blue sky. His breath caught, this floating island had to be it… Zodd's Flower Field itself.
A place of myth, yet here he was. He nearly dropped to his knees out of the shock of it all, he'd not expected his Third Father to grant this Boon to him. A gentle wind caressed the thousands of white flower pedals, making the field seem like a wave. Looking up at the sitting statue of Zodd, Kid'ka could swear that the crimson eyes were staring right at him. The orcish figure was accurate to what he'd seen in the Pillar-Churches, a strong, scarred frame, long tusks and a bald head. The statue wore only a loincloth, but other than that, the figure was undecorated.
He heard Halm coughing beside him, drawing his attention away from the statue of Zodd. The orc sat up from the flower field, his skin green and smooth once again. The orc looked up to see the statue of Zodd, then the field of flowers, before he bowed before the statue, head touching the soil.
"I understand what must be done, then." Halm said, standing from the ground, his back facing Kid'ka, "If we're here, brother, then that can only mean one thing."
Kid'ka nodded, "Zodd has granted me a Boon, to let you die a warrior's death." He explained, "I could not let you perish that way."
Halm chuckled, his head hanging back to stare at the sky, "It's been hundreds of years… I'm ready to join Zodd in his feast hall." He said solemnly, "I enjoyed our adventure together, as short as it was."
"I did as well." Kid'ka nodded, stepping back before raising his fists, "Halm, I challenge you to Tomah."
The orc slowly turned to face Kid'ka, a smile on his face, "I accept."
Immediately after Halm said that… something strange happened. A bright red glow emanated from the orcs flesh, the bulge in his chest shrinking as something began to form around his neck. A reflective red chain necklace appeared, wrapping around his neck at the same time a medallion took shape, made of the same reflective metal, depicting the Tongue of Zodd itself.
"Halm!?" Kid'ka shouted, "You-"
"After all these years…" Halm said, hand cradling the medallion, "I've finally become the Mouth of Zodd. He truly does think I'm worthy, after all." He smiled, fist closing over the amulet, "Praise be to the Pillar of Might. My first and final act as Mouth, will be to test you, brother." Halm said, releasing the tongue. He held his arms out to either side, stretching them out as far as they could go, palms facing Kid'ka, "Come face me, son of Zodd!"
Kid'ka gave a short nod, before he began walking toward Halm. The orc put his arms down, before approaching Kid'ka as well, slowly at first, before they both broke into a sprint. Dozens of white flower pedals flew through the air as Halm threw a punch aimed for Kid'ka's head. He ducked the blow, the massive fist crashing into the dirt and cratering it before the Son of Zodd retaliated with his own punch.
Steel rang off steel as the blow connected, sending Halm flying backward into the air. Blood flew from his open mouth, the droplets coating some of the flower petals crimson. Kid'ka leapt into the air after the Mouth of Zodd, teeth bared as he closed the distance between them. However, the orc batted him straight out of the air with a hammer-fist, striking Kid'ka on the back of the head. The blow piked his skull straight into the dirt, rattling his brain.
He could feel a massive split in his scalp, warm blood oozing from the injury before it knit itself back together. Kid'ka ripped his head from the ground, immediately charging after where Halm landed. The orc rose right as Kid'ka jumped toward him, Halm's nose receiving a vicious knee. A thunderous gong echoing across Zodd's Flower Field as twin trails of blood spattered the flowers in twin streaks. Halm retaliated, punching Kid'ka in the ribs and sending the Pillar-Born flying away, coughing up blood as he felt every rib shatter before they stitched themselves back together. He rolled, painting the pedals further crimson before he finally rolled to a stop. He stood, seeing Halm bearing down on him. Kid'ka was shocked to see that the orc's nose was beginning to fix itself!
It shouldn't be surprising, the Mouth of Zodd should receive such blessings. Halm reared back his leg, lashing it forward with a powerful kick. Kid'ka ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow by a mere inch. Kid'ka gasped when he felt the orc's toes curl, grabbing Kid'ka by the hair and smashing him into the ground. Halm's entire weight was pushing down on the Pillar-Born's skull, keeping him pinned to the dirt. Kid'ka snarled, bracing both hands against the ground before he began pushing.
Halm's foot rose, the orc letting out a shocked gasp as Kid'ka scrambled out from under the foot. Like what he did to Loga, he kicked at Halm's foot, hearing the ball of the orc's ankle shatter beneath the force. Halm screamed, retaliating with a punch that crushed Kid'ka's chest inward. Breath left him, leaving the son of Zodd unable to draw in air as Halm grabbed him by the skull. Halm smashed Kid'ka into the ground once, twice, three times, each strike leaving a deeper crater then the one before it. Kid'ka wrapped his legs and arms around Halm's forearm, before squeezing it with all his might.
Halm let out a cry of agony as the bones in his arm cracked beneath the pressure, the crushing strength of his hand loosening. He pulled his head out of Halm's palm as his crushed chest filled out, falling to the ground while keeping a grasp on Halm's wrist. Kid'ka let out a bloody grunt of effort as he swung Halm into the air, slamming him into the ground again, and again before sending the orc flying away, his big body rolling across the field until finally rolling to a stop beneath the statue of Zodd.
Kid'ka, for the briefest of instants, wondered if Halm wouldn't rise. Thankfully he was proven wrong, as the Orc stood, glaring at Kid'ka with a wide smile on his face. Kid'ka grinned back, before charging at Halm once again, fists raised. This battle wouldn't end so quickly. His suspicions were proven correct, as hours passed of the two fighting back and forth across the field, tearing up the soil and gradually painting every flower crimson. Not a speck of white remained as Kid'ka finally stood victorious over Halm, huffing and puffing as he stared down at the orc. Halm had become skinny, unable to supplement himself with Foundation as Kid'ka was able to… Tomah had reached its inevitable conclusion.
Kid'ka dropped to his knees beside the pure red figure of Halm, both men covered head to toe in one another's blood. The orc coughed, fresh trails of crimson leaking from his mouth as he smiled up at Kid'ka.
"S-so, it is done, finally." Halm coughed, "I can finally rest, but before I do that… I must pass on my station. Present your chest, great w-warrior." Halm coughed again, tearing the Amulet of Zodd from his neck.
"Me?" Kid'ka asked, "I'm not-"
"None is worthier than a son of Zodd himself, boy." Halm insisted, his voice ragged, "You defeated me in Tomah, I choose you as my heir."
Kid'ka nodded, pulling open his shirt, "I will not deny you your will, great one."
Halm's smile deepened, and he raised his thumb up, pushing it deeply into Kid'ka's flesh before ripping it open painfully. Kid'ka's face didn't change as Halm shoved the amulet into Kid'ka's chest, the wound sealing over quickly as soon as Halm's thumb was removed. The orc's arms fell slack to either side as he stared up at the sky, his eyes slowly becoming glassy.
"I go to Zodd's hall… my old friends, they await me… Good luck Kid'ka, son of Zodd… may we do battle again one day…" He said faintly.
Kid'ka's jaw clenched, "We will, brother."
Halm merely smiled, before his eyes became glassy and his breath left him. Kid'ka bit his tongue, hanging his head low a moment before looking up to the statue of Zodd. His eyes widened when he saw that the statue… was crying. Twin streams of blood flowed down its cheeks as it stared down at Halm. The sight brought Kid'ka to tears as well, and he screamed his grief to the heavens, his anguish echoing across the empty field of bloodied flowers.
Maesh ran through the tunnels beneath the horrid place that had been known as Blackgaze. Something was stirring within the bowels of this mesa, a golden glow following them as they continued to run. The pointy-eared mutant woman as well as the Ternans had disappeared after the tunnel collapsed behind their group, separating Maesh from them completely. He wasn't sure if they had been crushed to death beneath the rubble, but if they had, that was just one less thing he'd have to worry about. The Molok, Hoplite Thirty Seven, was his primary concern. His comrades that he'd been imprisoned with were following him now, as was natural.
Still, this wasn't good. The pointy-eared human had seemed to know these tunnels well, and was guiding the Ternans to a place they could escape. He needed to find a way out on his own, before that golden glow caught up to them. He ran quickly, hearing pugs being incinerated behind as they struggled to catch up to the more able-bodied troops. The swaglay had no troubles with their skittering legs, his kindred yugoro, while smaller than he, were still quick on their feet, and the wasps used their wings to speed themselves along. Maesh needed to distract himself from the stress he felt, knowing that death was scraping just behind him, growing closer and closer.
Before the tunnel had collapsed, and sealed the Ternans off from Maesh's group, he'd considered giving an order to gun them down, but they were too far ahead of Maesh's squad at the time. Not only that, but these tunnels were far too cramped for that to have worked well. Human weapons struck near instantly as well, as opposed to plasma weaponry, the Darsh, or as they were known by Terna, the Final Kind's forces would have been at a disadvantage down here.
Not to mention how dishonourable such an act would be. They were at war, true, but they also had a temporary truce at the moment… breaking it would sully his honor. The truce would end once he and the Molok did battle, then the filthy humans and mighty forces of Darsh would fight, as they had for hundreds of years. Still, a part of Maesh found all this conflict with humanity pointless in the long run. Why could the humans not understand that serving the Patron was the highest honor one could receive? All they had needed to do was submit, and join the Darsh, working their way up from slave race to something more, just as the yugoro had eons ago.
Thankfully the Arch-Molok had vanished decades ago. Jyn's disappearance had made it safe to field their greatest warships once more, the Ulaming, or as the humans called them, Dragon-class. The Arch-Molok's power had dwarfed even the Patron's, capable of destroying a Dragon-class after turning into a horrible monster, a tentacled demon. With Jyn gone the Dragon's could be fielded once again without fear, the Darsh's handicap gone with him.
At least, it was supposed to have been safe. The humans had destroyed their Ulaming frigate, Soul of the Void, with a weapon they had never seen before. They'd known that the Sparrow had the Molok Thirty-Seven on it, along with a secret weapon that humanity could use to potentially even the odds between them… it is unfortunate that the Soul of the Void needed to find that out the hard way, it had been a fine vessel.
Well, they were here now, and one day this planet would submit to the Darsh, one way or another, they just needed to find their way out of these winding tunnels first. Then he'd settle the score with the Molok. His feet cracked the stone as he ran on, not daring to look back at the closing firestorm for even an instant.
A break in the tunnel presented itself, and he ran down the one leading to the right-
Only to see a red skinned human mutant standing there, back turned to them. Long dark horns stretched out over a head of long white hair, and the human turned to face Maesh. Half of his face was completely gray, as was his entire right arm. A disgusting eyeball stared out from a socket in the gray arms shoulder, a mutation Maesh had never seen before in his life.
"You wish to join?" The mutant asked as Maesh ran toward him.
He would trample this man if he didn't move out of Maesh's path, he had no time to talk with freaks and he'd not spare him if he chose to remain an obstacle. Right as he was about to run him over, the mutant vanished from sight. Something cold attached itself to Maesh's back, worming it's way into his skin. His nanomachines went to work, destroying the invading body well before it could penetrate too deeply.
"That's okay." The human said from behind him, "The others can join Ahkoolis instead."
Maesh turned his head, seeing grey tendrils spreading out across the tunnel, a wall of silvery fire blocking off all escape. It seemed to block of the gold fire at least, but his comrades were now stuck between that, and the tendrils that reached down toward them. These sharp tipped tentacles stabbed through their flesh, wrapping around them to hold them in place so they couldn't escape. Maesh turned, aiming two plasma pistols and a rifle at the mutant.
This freak could not be suffered to live. Whatever he was, he was spreading his disease to the mighty forces of the Darsh, this was unacceptable. Maesh fired, bolts of hot white plasma speeding for him. Silver flame shot up, intercepting the bolts before, to Maesh's shock, the shots fired right back at him. He snorted as he ducked away from the bolts, returning fire only for those shots to be caught by the mutants foul sorcery.
He heard the tunnel shake again, the ceiling above him cracking before it began to collapse. Maesh dashed backward, the last thing he saw of his fellow Darsh being their skin turning grey, and the horrid eyes of the mutated human, the one on the gray side of his face pure black, staring at Maesh with a ghoulish smile.