Into the Dark

[Shang Tsung]

Darkshire felt a little brighter these days.

It wasn’t a change that was dramatic, and it was something that would take a long while before it began to pay dividends. No matter what way you cut it, though, the town was on the upswing. The Moors were still an abysmal place, but the recent ‘reorganization’ of the town’s government had removed much of the sullenness that had pervaded Darkshire over the last few months.

After a month spent ensuring that most of the disgruntled elites of the old regime had been ‘pensioned off,’ Shang was able to enjoy some solace. He spent his days much like he imagined any victorious general or successful CEO would—relaxing and planning for the next grand step. With the Spartan as the middle-man between the council and the military, Shang had a direct link to the institution at the core of Darkshire. The sorcerer made sure that the militia always received their checks when they came due, and while the town was still trying to make up for months of a shrinking economy, he was doing what he could to provide them with better equipment.

Shang—and the rest of the council, for that matter—knew that they needed to find a stable revenue source for the town. The assortment of estates that tried to survive through farming in the Moors provided some fleck of income through taxation, but it wasn’t enough. They needed more lucrative trading deals from outside the verse, which was the responsibility of the business-savvy individuals on the council.

As Dobson and the politicos were dealing with the internal workings of the town, that left Shang and Demetri to deal with the military.

The sorcerer liked Demetri. He was one of those zero frills, no-nonsense types that was just blunt enough to be enjoyable without coming off as a prude or a walking, talking piece of stone. Demetri, someone who had worked his way up through the Town Guard’s hierarchy, agreed that they needed to create some sort of unifying objective beyond ‘survival.’

For too long, Darkshire had been in survival mode.

The two men sat in a small room sipping on piss-poor beer.

“We take the fight to the rest of the Moors, then.” Shang remarked, his eyes on the map they’d laid out on the table between them. “We secure our lifeline to the gate, and then we move into the interior.”

“What’s the goal?” Demetri asked—wanting to cut to the chase.

“You know.”

“Dracula?”

“Is there any other goal?” Shang asked, glancing up from the map. Demetri nodded his head as he stared at the area of the Moors where Dracula resided.

“It’s a long march. An army capable of defeating the Count would be ravaged by that long a march, even if we secure a stable route. The logistics of providing food and provisions for so vast a distance… it’d be a nightmare for any quartermaster.”

Shang nodded his head as his eyes fell to a small landmark pin on the map. “We need to find a waypoint…” He said as he placed his thumb on the half-ruined image of Poenari Castle. “Here. Almost sixty percent of the distance between us and him… it’s got to be large enough to hold any army we can field.”

“Poenari?” Demetri asked, prompting a nod from Shang. “Won’t do… that place is infested with monsters.”

At that, the sorcerer threw his head back and laughed. “The entire fucking Pale Moors is infested with monsters. Hell, this town has its fair share of monsters.”

The military man grimaced. “That place has been in ruins and infested since the war ended. Even if we could clear it, it would require countless resources and manpower to repair and reinforce its walls.”

“That’s fine,” Shang answered. “You think we’re going to march out next week? Time is something we need a lot of to make any of this happen. Time to make this town a little more lucrative. Time to create an effective military. Time to field an army to recapture the Moors.”

Demetri nodded his head. “So what? We send a probing force to Poenari?”

“I’ll go and take a small gang with me,” Shang remarked. “You’ll have to remain here and ensure that everything continues to run smoothly. Dobson’s still green when it comes to being the head man, and you’ll need to make sure those bureaucrats and politicians don’t try to abuse that.”

“Of course,” Demetri remarked as he looked down at the map one more time. “Bold plan you have for the Moors.”

Shang smiled. “You can thank me when this works.”

[Shang Tsung]

They said goodbye to Magus and Thaal Sinestro with a simple nod of their heads.  From their time as the Harbinger, all four men knew everything about one another, and while none of them could be sure, Shang was certain that their time fused had probably had some sort of effect upon their psyche.
 
All the sorcerer knew was that he held the small silver token in the fist of his hand.  As they had set out to do, the pair had gone to the Nexus and claimed their part of the treasure.  Although he knew very little about any of the recently deceased, Shang had little doubt that most of them had probably deserved it.  The ninja and his associates had been turncoats, and that alone damned them.  The others?
 
You don’t jab a napping tarkatan. The phrase was derived from the Earth equivalent that dealt with sleeping giants, but more so than any oversized person, a vexed tarkatan was not something anyone should ever willingly subject themselves to.
 
“That was different.”
 
Shang stuffed the egg into a pouch on his belt and turned to look at Atelos.  The Spartan grinned as they drew closer to the Pale Moors gate.  Once they were on the other side, they both paused to soak in the gloom and doom ambiance before proceeding on the pathway toward Darkshire.  “It was,” Shang finally replied as he lifted a hand and smiled as green vapors formed and started to swirl around his spread fingers.  “I think it’s safe to say that we both took a lot away from that exchange, right?”
 
Atelos continued to smile.  “Fusion is something I’ve never witnessed… and we just saw three of them.  You think that is common in the Omniverse?”
 
The sorcerer responded with a shrug of his shoulders.  “Maybe.”  Before he continued his thought, Shang opened up his other hand to reveal a seemingly mundane-looking piece of bronze jewelry.  “This place never ceases to amuse me.”  He concluded as he held the ring up to his eyes.  It was the very one that Sinestro had ‘bestowed’ upon him, but the device seemed to be inert.  Whatever strange power it held before the battle was gone.
 
“You still have that?”  Atelos asked upon seeing the ring.  The Spartan paused to pat at the small satchel around his waist, but he didn’t bother to tug it open.  From the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, it was obvious that the warrior had not only lost the little token but had also forgotten entirely about it.
 
“I am a curious man, Spartan,” Shang muttered as he ran his thumb over the runic symbol that denoted the…
 
Sinestro Corps.  Named it after himself, it seems…
 
Shang knew that he was staring at a ring of power.  That much he seemed to know from having been fused with Sinestro and experienced the power somewhat firsthand.  Beyond that, the thoughts were fuzzy.  Alongside the yellow lantern’s memories, Shang felt the experiences of Magus and Atelos tickling at the corners of his brain.  Buried just a little deeper were the dead.  As he suppressed the swirl of thoughts and memories, Shang felt a little sadness at having failed to once again destroy Strazio Rockwell.  The brash, violent mage had stormed into the Nexus swinging his fists, and in the end, he’d killed himself to try and sell a point.
 
We’ll meet again very soon, Mr. Rockwell.
 
While there was much to talk about, the twosome fell back into a silence that stayed with them through the gates of Darkshire.  Once they were on the other side, they made plans to discuss their plans over the coming days.  Shang knew that they would both need some time to figure out how much work they may have missed due to the strangely erratic passage of time when multiple primes converged on a single locus.

[Shang Tsung]

The sorcerer sat in his office.

It had been a few long weeks since the incident at the Nexus, and he knew that he was close to cracking the mystery of Sinestro’s jewelry. He’d managed to find the copy that Atelos had been given, which had indeed wound up among the Spartan’s little bag of personal effects. Using his friend’s ring, the sorcerer had been able to break it apart and study some of what had gone into its construction.

Despite looking like a simple golden ring, it had a lot of power woven throughout it. That power allowed the ring to generate and manipulate ‘hard light’ into devastating weapons and defensive tools. As the Harbinger, the Sorcerer had used the powers of the ring as if they were an extension of his own body, and while he didn’t have that connection with the piece lying on his table, he still remembered how it should work.

“Need to create a power source…”

Unfortunately for the sorcerer, he didn’t know what had powered Sinestro’s ring. The Harbinger had the ring integrated into its own body, but the purple-skinned warrior from the Dunes had fueled his ring in some manner. Prior to fusing, Sinestro had channeled fear into the power of his ring. Not his fear, but the desire to inflict fear on others. Was this device somehow powered by fear?

Or maybe it’s something internal? Shang scowled at the prospect of having to hunt down and dissect the other prime. Since this was the Omniverse, there surely had to be some sort of work-around or alternate methods to power a ring.

From the door of his office, a calm voice proposed a very sensible solution. “Can’t you just make your own?”

Glancing up from the desk, the sorcerer stared at the secretary for a few moments before nodding his head very slowly. “Yes…” He muttered as he looked back down at the ring. “I can’t use fear though, that’s too… negative.”

“Love?” The woman replied, prompting the sorcerer to throw his head back in a long, hearty laugh.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day,” he said, waving away her opinion with a smile as he looked back down at the dissected trinket. “Love? How ridiculous. It has to be something more tangible… Something that can drive people to great results. Like… hunger. Or desire for greatness.”

Those were all wonderful options that resonated with the sorcerer on a profound level. What better way to describe himself than someone who hungered for more than just knowledge and power?

“Sounds a lot like avarice,” his secretary mumbled, prompting him to turn a glare her way.

“That’ll be everything for today,” he shot back, and this time, his wave was to dismiss her from his office.

“Avarice? She’s lucky I don’t reassign her to punch papers for the Spartan,” Shang whispered as he stared down at the ring. Leaning to his side, he opened his drawer and retrieved the unmolested trinket. He set it down next to the Spartan’s ring and cleared his mind.

Three hours later, Shang Tsung let out a long breath and relaxed back into his chair. In front of the sorcerer, an enormous mass of glowing orange energy started to shrink in front of him. Within moments, the light and heat had faded away to reveal a bronze ring emblazoned with a logo on his own design and draped in a light orange hue. Scooping it up, the sorcerer grinned as he slid it over his right ring finger. The top of the ring continued to glow faintly as he felt it spread a general feeling of warmth over his slightly fatigued form. He knew this ring was just a prototype, but he already felt good about what he’d created.

Need to test this out… In just a few short hours, the town would be launching its probing force against Poenari. If he could hammer out the specifics for the ring, Shang hoped to return with his own elite group of ring-empowered soldiers.

The Pale Moors will belong to Darkshire. The orange of the ringer gave of a stronger glow as the sorcerer clenched his hand into a tight fist. The orange light of Darkshire will purge anyone that opposes me.

[Shang Tsung]

After a few weeks of preparation, the group had set out in the hinterland. At their helm, the sorcerer sat atop his horse and stared into the bleak horizon. How long had it been since he’d last been this far out into the Moors? Months? Perhaps a year? In his world, time was something that never changed, much like the force of gravity, but here in the Omniverse, both time and gravity were mutable concepts. Gravity could be upended by willpower, and time was something that rarely seemed to follow its own rules half the time.

Despite the dangers of the verse, the small war party had managed to deal with most of the fel creatures that lurked in the vile black. For the most part, what attacked them comprised mostly of feral beasts that knew nothing more than lust for blood and flesh. The ‘more intelligent’ abominations watched and waited, understanding that they would be at a disadvantage if they assaulted the convoy of soldiers armed with more than just grit, swords, and crossbows.

No, these (mostly) human soldiers had the Light on their side. It was an orange light, but to the eldritch beasts, it burned just the same.

Shang Tsung smiled as he looked down at his right ring finger. Despite the lack of direct sunlight, the ring still had a faint shimmer to it, and the faint orange glow never seemed to fade from its surface. It had taken him weeks of experimentation to craft the device from the samples he’d obtained from Sinestro, and then after that, he’d spent countless days learning the intricacies of the device. After drawing the connection between the ring and his own emotions, Shang had gradually mastered the most basic functions of the ring.

That is, he could use it to destroy things.

At the end of the day, that was what he wanted to take out of the artifact. He didn’t need some fanciful connection with a greater ideology or any sort of ‘deep’ moment of emotional epiphany. He needed more power, and he had found it.

Once he became master of the device, it didn’t take quite as long to craft a duplicate of it.

That duplicate had gone to Atelos, but for some reason, the Spartan couldn’t get the device to respond to his commands—spoken or otherwise. After a few afternoons that involved a lot of smashed furniture and choice words, the two allies decided to drop the experiment entirely. The sorcerer didn’t vocalize his opinion, but he was quite certain that the Spartan lacked the finer elements to control the ring’s power. Either that, or there was some sort of incompatibility between the device and the Grecian warrior due to the latter’s dual-personality.

After that failed experiment, Shang randomly selected one of the Spartan’s lieutenants in the garrison. Since a prime had failed, the sorcerer wanted to try the ring with a secondary. He had nothing against secondaries, but by their very nature, they were a little more… mutable. If the lieutenant had failed to properly ‘bond’ with the ring, Shang was certain he could have either reshaped the man’s brain or simply started to summon his own prefabricated ring-bearers.

Fortunately for the sorcerer, he didn’t need to take it to that extra step. With a little active coaching, Lieutenant Federov had been able to tap into the requisite part of his mind needed to will the power of the ring. After two days of struggling with the bull-headed Spartan, it was a relief for the sorcerer that this lieutenant had figured it out in an afternoon.

‘You need to want the power. Will power is all nice and pretty, but you have to want the results. Need them. Desire the ring’s power.’

It had taken some screaming and belittling from the sorcerer, but the lieutenant found the orange light within himself. Shang smirked as he recalled the soldier blasting him square in the chest with a condensed beam of orange hard-light. Lieutenant Federov had apologized a dozen times over, but Shang was too pleased to retaliate. After all, he had purposefully goaded the soldier to try and strike him.

Desire.

“Desire the power. Want the power.” Shang smirked as the ring glowed brighter around his finger.

[Shang Tsung]

The group had made it a few hours further when the first fissures started to appear. It began as quick yet fierce glimpses from one soldier to another. Those glances started to linger as the hold of the orange light tightened its grip on the individual’s minds. The sorcerer should have seen the indicators and reacted accordingly, but he didn’t expect the pot to boil over so quickly and so thunderously. Unfortunately, the attack prevented him from responding to the developments occurring within his group of soldiers.

From the sides, the shambling corpses came roaring out from the darkness. Their decomposing fingers grabbed at throats as their yellowed teeth gnashed together in anticipation of an easy meal.

Faced by the ambush, the eight soldiers reacted quickly and harshly to the undead assailants. Shang watched in silence as they fell back into a tight circle and laid into the closing ring of zombies with a wonderful brutality. Lancing bursts of hard light roared out from the cluster of Darkshire soldiers. The zombies groaned woefully as their limbs were blown apart by the sparkling orange columns of condensed energy. Decayed appendages and clumps of coagulated blood spattered wetly against the barren earth. Although the horde initially seemed to number in the dozens, the onslaught of machinegun-like hard light blasts quickly tore it to shreds.

The last zombie stumbled backwards as two beams of hard light tore through its chest and left thigh. It collapsed against the ground and held up a quavering arm for a brief moment before a third blast split open its skull like an overripe fruit.

Shang Tsung grinned from his horse and slowly started to clap his hands as the soldiers stepped out from their tight, circular formation and looked at the havoc they had wrought. For so long, they had heard stories of the monsters of the Pale Moors. Hordes of zombies that would overwhelm travelers and eat them alive. They heard tales of predators that would stalk you for hours before pouncing and tearing out your throat. Many of the soldiers had seen firsthand assaults on the walls and watched as friends had been yanked down and ripped open by eldritch creatures pulled from the nightmares of young children.

In a reversal of their fears, these men stood victorious against odds that would have resulted in the near annihilation of a normal squad of soldiers. Shang knew that to be true as well, for his first experiences as a member of the Darkshire garrison had involved an ambush. In that incident, all of his fellow soldiers had been slain, and it was only the experience of himself and the Spartan Atelos that allowed them to defeat their assailants and return to the city intact.

“It feels good to lay low the boogeymen, doesn’t it?” Shang Tsung inquired, yet despite his rhetorical question, he noted that the men weren’t listening to him. They weren’t even focused on him—their eyes had turned to their peers.

“Why is his ring better than mine?” One of them demanded, thrusting a finger at another soldier as he glanced at his peers. “All of yours are superior to mine! Why was I given an inferior ring? What is this treachery!”

Shang opened his mouth to address the situation, for he knew that any perceived difference in ring strength was based not on the innate potential of the ring but on its user. This poor soldier, clearly stressed by the recent ambush, was not seeing things as clearly as he should. Before the sorcerer could act to dispel the situation, another of his charges interjected with angry words as well.

“You lie! You hide your ring’s might to keep us from finding the truth, but you are revealed as a fraud! Give me your ring, you don’t deserve it!”

[Shang Tsung]

With a growl, the soldier lunged at his compatriot. The startled man managed to use his sword to knock away the oncoming blade, but in a moment, the pair was on the ground. Shang watched with a morbid fascination as the attacking soldier started to rip and tear at his comrade’s face. Hadn’t these two been friends for the last two years? In the corner of his eye, the sorcerer caught two other soldiers lunging at one another’s throats.

In a matter of seconds, the squad of eight—handpicked for their ability to cooperate under duress and withstand the stresses of the Moors—had disintegrated into a mob of animals. Steel shrieked into the dark of the night and ephemeral sparks dotted across the clearing for a moment. When the material weapons failed, they were replaced by flashes of erratic orange energy. From his horse, Shang continued to watch the scene unfold until he himself was drawn into the chaos.

Lifting his head from the now torn open neck of his dead comrade, one of the soldiers looked up at the sorcerer. There was madness and what seemed to be a faint tint of orange in the man’s brown eyes. The blood continued to drip from his bearded visage as he growled and rose to his feet. He pointed an ensanguined digit at the sorcerer and opened his eyes wide like a man seeing straight into the depth of madness. “You hide the light from us! You have it. GIVE!”

Shang smiled faintly as he tapped his ring finger against his thigh. “You’re not thinking clearly, Jacobs. You are sick, my young friend.”

“GIVE IT TO ME! I WANT IT!” The man’s eyes burned with orange embers as he rushed his leader.

With a scowl, Shang lifted his hand and send a bolt of orange hardlight through the man’s ribcage. The column of energy tore casually through flesh and bone before smashing into the ground behind the soldier. The unnatural glow of the man’s eyes vanished like a snuffed candle.

The sorcerer quickly turned and glared as the surviving pair of soldiers turned their focus from one another to the mounted warrior. They managed to get a few yards closer before both were struck with condensed bursts of hardlight.

In less than a minute, Shang Tsung was the only living thing in the area. His expression was a deep scowl as he slipped free from the horse and dropped to the ground next to one of the fresh corpses. While certifiably dead, the former soldier still had flecks of orange threaded into his formerly all-brown irises. Had the sorcerer’s picked the wrong individuals for this mission?

Lifting up his right hand, Shang looked at the orange Power Ring.

Maybe I’m the only one who is talented enough to wield this power?

The thought brought a mixture of confidence and frustration to the sorcerer, who had so hoped to use the rings to augment the defense force of the city.

Might still be a way…

A predatory grin spread across the sorcerer’s features as he looked at the fresh corpses that littered the area. If he was the only one capable of bending the orange light, then there was a simple solution to this problem. Holding out his hand, Shang Tsung focused on the bodies around him and centered on still lie within them. There were a few moments of resistance before the still forms twitched and relinquished their souls after a flash of myriad colors.

The souls flowed through the air and vanished into the sorcerer. After a moment of still silence, Shang breathed out an identical column of green, gas-like vapors that writhed and churned as they moved away from him. The expended soul broke apart, and as they snaked through the air toward their respective corpses, they started to shimmer with orange light. Once they had slipped through the flesh suits, the bodies shuddered on the ground, and when the formerly glazed-over eyes snapped open, the soldiers’ irises were orange.

“Nice touch,” Shang Tsung muttered as the reanimated soldiers sat up off the ground and shambled to their feet. “Welcome back, how are we feeling?” The question was rhetorical, since he could see and fell into each of the statue-stiff soldiers staring at him. While the window façade was the same, their battered forms were willed into existence by Shang Tsung and the power of the master Power Ring that glowed on the sorcerer’s finger. “I was always a bit of a micromanager,” the man muttered as he turned to his horse.

“Back to Darkshire. We’ll break you in on the way.”

[Shang Tsung]

The sorcerer relaxed in his chair and stared out the window at the view of the town.

How long had it been since the attack? It was hard to tell now, because the majority of the damage had long-since been repaired. In fact, Darkshire looked better than it had in the years since Shang Tsung had arrived. When he had first appeared in the tormented little villa, the place had the resemblance of a Nazi ghetto. Whether it was the business quarter, the slums, or the high-end district, shattered windows and crumbling facades have been commonplace. While those sights could still be spotted in the perpetually depressed districts, they had mostly vanished from everywhere else.

In a sense, the assault had been beneficial in the long run, because most of the damage had been done to the more economically struggling parts of the town. Where the walls had faltered or failed, the adjacent areas had mostly been slums. While some shanty towns had emerged in the area, the majority of the rabble had been slain or driven off in the siege. In the aftermath, Shang had managed to get Dobson to rezone some of the areas to prevent them from becoming landfill of human squalor.

In place of three blocks of tenements near the walls, a visitor could find a large monument (and a very beautiful memorial plaza) to those who had fallen in what was often called the “Battle of Darkshire VI” by the oldest and most cynical members of the population. Those same drunken louts loved to go to pubs and croak about how many demons they’d kill the next time an armed force struck at the walls.

“Every cloud has a silver lining,” Shang whispered to himself as he tapped a finger against the little silver bell that sat on his desk. It had been a Christmas ornament that one of the orphanages had given to him for his various donations two seasons ago. As a prime, the sorcerer had no real need for the salary that the city gave him every month, so he simply gave it to the nearest or grimiest-looking charity. In Darkshire, you could find something in want of free money and goods every few blocks. An entire shelf on his bookcase was reserved for similar trinkets and baubles.

The others that occupied the Council were awful when it came to public relations. With the exception of Dobson and Demetri, the others couldn’t speak their way out of a wet paper bag. At first, Shang had hoped they would all fall victim to some kind of ‘Pale Moors accident’, but after a while, he realized that—despite their charismatic failings—they were actually competent in their assigned roles.

His focus drifting, Shang glanced to the other corner of his desk and smirked at the golden egg that glimmered unnaturally as it rested on its tiny pedestal. There were plenty of days where the sorcerer could just stare at the little artefact for hours as he procrastinated the volume of paperwork that rested near the middle of his workspace. Out of all the times and places that he had lived in (or live through, for that matter), Darkshire was near the top of the list when it came to inane bureaucracy. With the assistance of Shang, Holden, and Hawthorn, Dobson had managed to excise a lot of the fat from the system, but much of it still lingered.

Two years later, and Shang Tsung was still annoyed every time he received an invoice-506 or a form-923. He had once tried a secretary, but after a few weeks of that botched experiment, he deduced that most of her resume had been fabricated. Her only skill had been a symmetrical face and an ample bosom.

With a sigh, the bureaucrat leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The device in the far corner of the room continued to flood the room with the sound of distance thunderstorms. Shang Tsung wasn’t huge into modern technology, but the speaker-slash-robotic slave machine amused him from time to time.

Thump thump!

After all this time, the sorcerer recognized most people by the way in which they knocked on his door. “Omazon, off.” He barked toward the speaker in the corner as he shifted toward the entrance. “It’s unlocked,” he spoke as the heavy mahogany door swung inward. A beat later, Atelos slipped through it pushed it shut. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

The Spartan rolled his eyes at his companion’s faux tone and posture. “We’re not at a council meeting,” he said with a sneer as he strode over and dropped himself into one of the chairs on the other side of Shang’s desk. “I sent out the monthly group of outriders.”

“Aye, I remember happily stamping the papers,” Shang replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Atelos grinned. “I know that’s your favorite task, ‘Triumvir’ Tsung.”

Now it was the sorcerer who rolled his eyes. “What did they report back? More packs of dire wolves near the Arklays? Or was it ents this time? I hate the ents.”

“If only,” the career soldier replied as he scooped up the bell ornament and shook it a few times. Atelos didn’t have the same level of appreciate for charity cases as his ‘bleeding heart’ ally. After setting down the trinket, the Spartan turned back to address his comrade. “None of them came back. Not a single one. Even the horses didn’t return.”

Shang scowled. “That’s the first group of outriders we’ve lost since—”

“Since the assault by the winged demon. You know, the one who rules Poenari Castle? The one who serves the big bad who still threatens the Moors?”

“Do you think this means another large attack is imminent?”

Atelos stewed over that thought for a few moments before offering a response. “Maybe. Maybe not. The last time, the outriders were killed in an area directly between us and them.” Shang understood the context of them immediately. “This group was almost due north, so that also rules out an unexpected fog bank swallowing them.”

“Drow?” Shang asked.

The Spartan nodded. “That’s my guess. They’ve been quiet ever since that series of raids last Christmas, but the outriders were in their neighborhood.”

“What do you recommend we do, Captain?” Shang inquired formally as both men tried to hide smirks.

“Organize a strike force. Comb the area. Purge anything we find.”

Shang did smile at that. “All right, then we just nee—”

Atelos shook a hand to cut off his friend. The Spartan then reached down and produced a folder filled with a variety of paper. “I’ve taken the liberty to half-assedly prepare all the requisite paperwork for you, Triumvir. I’m sure you’ll want to double-check everything to make sure I didn’t miss any sections. You know how sloppy us jarheads can be when it comes to forms.”

“If I didn’t like you, I’d run your through with my letter opener,” Shang shot back as he reached out and slid the folder toward his end of the desk.

“I’m sure you’d give it your best try,” Atelos chuckled as he stood up and excused himself. The Spartan paused in the doorway and glanced back at his friend. “I might go. You should consider joining as well. You could use the exercise… you’re a little paler than usual.” The soldier then promptly left the room, laughing at his own joke as if he were the funniest man in the Pale Moors.

[Atelos]

The wooden old door swung shut being the Spartan. His laugh trailed off soon as he exited the room. Atelos missed the old banter with the sorcerer. As the two had become more solidified in their official positions, their interactions became much more formal and less friendly as the two were in their adventures. Atelos had begun his spartan training of the garrison, the pampered recruits needed to be toughened up. Shang, however, had to deal with the rising politics of Darkshire. The two heroes saw each other less and less and their interactions were now sparse and mostly at the city hall.

Atelos started down the steps and into the city of Darkshire, the town being more pleasant than he ever could have thought. Many of its citizens passed by freely doing business during the day, as well as the occasional guard patrolling the streets. Atelos couldn’t help but feel as if the new atmosphere of this town was due to him. Sure, the politics that Shang had to deal with enabled Atelos keeping the peace, but he wasn’t doing anything important. The Spartan came upon the barracks, glad he was able to refurbish it as he liked now that he was in charge.

As he pushed open the heavy iron door, he could hear the training battles occur in the courtyard. He walked towards the sound of wood swords banging on one another, heavy footsteps, and aggressive grunts. As he passed through another corridor, he could begin to see the green grass of the courtyard shortly ahead. Figures, clad in leather bound, sparred with wooden swords. The Spartan laid against the stone arch, observing the mock fights that were occuring. These were some of his new recruits, young and energetic. A loud *THWACK* resonated through the air as one of the wooden swords collided with the recruits arm, leaving a nasty mark. Atelos eyebrow raised, their punches were not pulled, very clearly shown by the numerous bruises on their appendages.

The Spartan loudly cleared his throat, each recruit turning their eyes to meet his gaze. Driving each of their swords into the ground, they saluted Atelos and in unison, “Yes Captain Atelos!” He smirked and waved them to be at ease, “Recruit Lopez. What are you four doing right now? Combat training isn’t till sundown.” The recruits were breathing heavily, clearly having been working on their combat for hours at this point.

The latino women, Lopez, had sweat dripping down her forehead as she reluctantly let down her saluting arm. The other cadets were also extremely formal, their arms still not fading from the salute. Atelos laughed a little at their formalities, rookies.  “There's never a moment to waste, sir! We want to be able to defend Darkshire at our best, sir!” The recruits “sirs” were as stiff as the beds that they all slept on.

Atelos chuckled, startling the rookies that were taking this so seriously. He waved his arm again at them as he laughed, encouraging them to not be so formal. “At ease cadets. You aren’t in trouble. It's respectable that you spend your time so.” He brought his hand up to his chain, stroking his beard lost in thought.

“I have a mission for you cadets.” Atelos walked over to the wooden table and seats in the courtyard, motioning the rest to sit down. The recruits followed hesitantly, before sitting across from where the Spartan was sitting. “Some of our scouts haven’t returned from their normal outposts near the drow and we need to send a force to find out what happened to them. Atelos smiled at the end of his sentence, And I want you to be that force.

The recruit’s faces paled, they made looks at each other to look as if this was some sort of cruel punishment. An uneasy silence permeated through the air before Lopez harshly broke it with a cough. “But Captain, we haven’t finished our training yet. Just us, this would be a death sentence.”

Exactly. Atelos spoke with a straight face not breaking eye contact. Lopez’s awkward smile had turned into a horrified, concerned look. Atelos couldn’t hold his straight face for long and broke out into laughter, pounding his fist on the table. “You should have seen the look on your faces. He cried out in the breathes between his thunderous laughter. “Oh my jokes do really liven up the place. He wiped a tear from his eyes and the recruits nervously laughed along with him.

He stopped his laughter but a large smile remained plastered on his face. “No, I will be escorting you along this mission. I believe you recruits show dedication and promise. Training is nothing compared to the hardened experience of the field. The recruits breathed a sigh of relief and whispered amongst themselves.

“Atelos will be coming with us,” and “He hasn’t gone on a mission in years,” and even, “We get to see him in combat. The Spartan stood up from the table and began walking away from the group. “Meet me at the gate at zero-five-hundred hours. You each will be getting a horse. You are dismissed.” The recruits resumed speaking with another excitedly. Atelos stopped at the archway of the courtyard before speaking to them once again. “If you are lucky, the Sorcerer will also accompany us. The students stood there confused for a slight moment, decoding what Atelos was talking about. He was heading into the staircase to his quarters before he could overhear the realization dawn onto them.

Atelos’ room was bare and plain. The only things present, the wooden bed and the Spartan shield that collected dust. He hasn’t donned his Grecian weaponry in many years. He wiped off the dust off of his ancient shield before an all to familiar voice spoke resoundly through his head.

Are you finally deciding to go for a stroll...Spartan. It’s been quite some time since Hades had spoken so clearly in the Spartan’s mind. You’ve been getting rusty and you have lost much of OUR power. Atelos has been able to maintain his ground in his contest with the daemon. Atelos had to give it to Hades, however, that he definitely felt weaker than he has felt in a long time. He flexed his fingers but the fire he had once felt in them had dwindled into a mere fraction of what it once was.

“Yes Hades, I am going out. I can feel it too. This is as much for you as it is for me.” Atelos bantered with him. Be on the lookout. Power comes in many forms… His voice whimpered away and dissipated. Hades’ interactions became less and less frequent and his hold on the Spartan had withdrawn. Atelos had a pit develop in his stomach. He know he should feel relieved but the God of Death had given so much power to the spartan. As his influence faded, so did the Spartan’s power. Should he feed into Hades’ power to defend Darkshire?

These thoughts plagued the Spartan over the course of the night, not allowing him to sleep. Atelos got from out of his bed and headed to the gate, preparing to summon his own mount before the recruits had gotten there. Atelos sat down, the musk of the morning floating in the air. He brought out the rainbow source of Omnillium and began to shape the horse with his mind. From nothing, the horse slowly began to form, it’s almond colored coat shining along with the rainbow material. With the quiet, it was easy to summon the horse, but as he just finished he heard the astonished gasp of a few people.

“I’ve never seen a prime summon something before. It’s so cool,” recruit Jones reached out to touch the mane of the horse that didn’t exist a few moments ago. “Are we heading out?” Lopez asked Atelos, eager to start their day.

His head turned to the direction of City Hall, half hoping that Shang would have accompanied them. He was about to turn his head and answer her before he saw a tiny figure walking towards them. A shit-eating grin burst across the Spartan’s face before he yelled into the darkness that enveloped the town, “Yes, Sorcerer!

[Shang Tsung]

Atelos had only been gone for about a quarter hour when Shang finished the paperwork and deposited the stack into a bin for one of the town hall aides. They could be (mostly) counted on to complete everything he had left blank for one reason or another. With the bureaucracy taken care of for the day, the sorcerer returned to his desk and plucked the egg from its roost. Leaning down at his desk, he entered the combination into the lockbox and set the egg atop the small stack of books that included his journal, his copy of Fifty Shades of White, and the Necronomicon.

Once the container was sealed, Shang Tsung stood up from his desk and brushed off some of the dust that occasionally collected on him if he sat for too many hours in the office. Taking a few paces back into the center of the room, he did a quick once-over to ensure he hadn’t left any of his valuables lying around. The room was bugged, but he’d rather secure everything in the event that an intern or an aide developed a case of sticky fingers. The last time something had gone missing from Shang’s office, the pile of bodies had been enough to raise some eyes.

After grabbing his coat from the rack near the door, the sorcerer snapped his fingers and waited for the lights to turn off before making his exit. He slipped the overcoat on as he traversed the hallway, and by the time he reached the back stairwell, the hood was over his head. He departed through the Town Hall service entrance and was indistinguishable from the rest of the rabble as he cut through Darkshire’s governing district en route to his home.

For today, he had decided to take route number seven. He had a dozen different paths that he had developed over the last two years. Darkshire was a much better place than it had been under Mayor Boone, but that didn’t mean Shang hadn’t accumulated his fair share of enemies—political or otherwise. Dobson and the majority of the junta were respected as ‘children of Darkshire’ because they had either been ‘born’ here or grown up here over the years.

Shang was the outsider, at least in the eyes of the town’s old ruling class. The people loved him as much as anyone else in town, because he had done so much to keep them safe. He still received accolades for escaping from Silent Hill, even if that felt like a lifetime ago for many of the town’s mortal denizens. While the middle- and lower-classes adored him, it was the people with money who often tried to give the sorcerer fits.

The last assassin had tried to take him out near the middle of route six. They had been an amateur—most of the hired knives in Darkshire were novices. Even the few outsiders contracted to take him down had been middle-of-the-pack. In that regard, Shang figured that the threats on his life were intended less to kill him and more so to try and intimidate him. Some sort of scare tactic that probably would work on some lesser person.

Unfortunately for the upper-class interests, the only experienced killer in Darkshire was on Shang’s payroll.

Like most days, Shang experienced no excitement on his stroll home. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. One finger snap later, and the ‘condo’ light up as the magical candles flickered to life throughout the building. An eternity ago, this had been the home of the paladin Argento, the former Champion of Darkshire. The sun-loving, justice-hungry dullard had protected this place for years before he became a loose end in need of severance. Shang Tsung had ‘inherited’ the paladin’s old home after Argento’s unfortunate demise in Silent Hill. After leaving the place as it had been for about a year (out of ‘respect’ for the fallen), the sorcerer had rehabbed the rundown place.

While his office had a lot more of his personal flair, the condo was rather vanilla by living standards. Shedding his coat and tossing it onto a rack, Shang made his way for the back room and started to hum as he found the key for the steel door. Once unlocked, the sheet of metal slid into the wall—a quaint, pseudo-modern touch that the sorcerer had added. The lights for his armory closet turned on automatically, casting a pale orange light upon a variety of implements concealed within the sealed chamber.

The first thing the sorcerer retrieved was his jian. Still humming, he slipped the belt sheath around his waist and pulled it tight. Like a few of the other trappings in the closet, he often utilized them during ceremonies, but the last time he had donned everything had been the days of the assault. With the jian nestled into its spot, he reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down a metal box that looked like it could hold a pair of shoes. Instead, the container, once unlocked, house an oversized handgun and a polished lightsaber. The science-fiction weapon slipped over his unoccupied hip, and the Desert Eagle, once in its holster, nestled between his shoulder blades.

Returning the box to the shelf, Shang retrieved the Day’suis from its prominent place at the center of the armory closet. The sorcerer frequently trotted out Argento’s weapon to play to the sympathy of the audience at public events. On this day, he brought it out for an altogether different reason. Heavy even by his standards, the hammer rested diagonally across his back.

Lastly, the sorcerer dropped down and poked a finger against a nondescript metal pad in the shadows of the closet. The tiny piece slid up to reveal a red light that light up and cast a beam forward. Stooping a little further down, Shang lined his right eye up with the sensor and smiled when a soft click followed a few moments later. Standing up to his full height, the bureaucrat reached up and waited for the recess in the ceiling to finish its short descent. Once it was done moving, Shang Tsung retrieved the tiny box and cracked it open to reveal a glimmering Power Ring.

“Hello, beautiful,” the sorcerer whispered as he plucked the ring out and then returned its container to the recess. As he stepped away from the armory closet, all the various parts reset themselves, and the door slid back into place.

Looking down, Shang smiled as he slid the ring over his right middle finger. He felt the familiar flush of power rush over him. “Now we’re good,” he whispered as he went to go find the robe he would wear overtop his attire.

***

When Shang found Atelos, the Spartan was making his final preparations to depart for the drow territories to the north.

“Yes, Sorcerer!” The Grecian barked as he caught sight of the sneering sorcerer striding through the evening shadows. Spotting the shape of the hammer behind his shoulder blades and the sword dangling from his right hip, the Spartan donned his own nefarious grin. “You look dressed for a night on the town.”

Shang Tsung chuckled. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity for a road trip with an old friend.”

“Is that Shang Tsung?” One of the soldiers whispered to a peer. “Like, seriously… is that Shang Tsung.”

The sorcerer cleared his throat as he walked next to Atelos and looked at the young man decked out for battle.

“Who else would it be?” He asked as the soldier instinctively went to attention and snapped off a quick salute. Shang wanted to laugh, but he settled for a quick, sideways glimpse at a smug Atelos. “He’s your officer. I’m just a politico with an itch to scratch, Private Jesse Hampton.”

The young man went a little pale. “You know my name?”

Shang chuckled softly. “I know all your names. You think that just because I work in an office that I don’t know the little people?”

To the sorcerer’s left, the Spartan just barely managed to suppress a snicker. Feeling his old friend’s eyes glaring at him, Atelos pointed through the open gates. “You don’t need to campaign, Triumvir Tsung. Let’s get our horses and move out.”

“Of course, Captain Atelos."

[Atelos]

Atelos slung his bronze shield over his back, before hopping onto his sturdy horse. The seat fit comfortably beneath him. The Spartan brought out his map of the region before the rest of the group came in. Lost in thought he hardly noticed when the rest of the squad arrived. An impatient clearing of the throat startled Atelos back into the real world. He jolted his head up to meet the Sorcerer’s eyes, along with the timid looks of his recruits. Without missing a beat, Atelos extended the local map of the Pale Moors so that everyone could see what he was examining. His fingers traced circles around the north area of the map, speaking fragmented sentences aloud to himself.

“This. This is Drow territory. They hate it when we come near them.” Atelos looked up at the recruits, expecting them to have completely understood his train of thought. His eyes went back down to the parchment in his hands, “We will be headed towards our scouts last known location here.” His finger pointed to a piece of the parchment where the intersection of tainted woods and grassland lay. “You four. If things ever get messy stay in between me and Tsung. We know a thing or two about fighting.” The Spartan met eyes with the Sorcerer, giving him a sly smirk before looking at the recruits again. “Let’s head out men.” He pulled his reigns, taking lead as confident as if he never left the field.

The path to the Drow’s territory was no short trip, leaving plenty of time for the Spartan and the Sorcerer to catch up. Unlike the rusty duo, the recruits had no issue socializing with one another. Atelos almost felt a pang of jealousy, he was never good at ‘small talk’. Shang, made no effort at beginning the conversation so Atelos felt like the pressure was on him, but the socially inept Spartan had no idea on how to begin. Atelos would spend minutes starting at Shang, but the minute the sorcerer turned his head to make eye contact, he would immediately jolt his head in the other direction. Minutes would go by, in which Atelos would take deep breathes as if he were to say something, for only a sigh of exasperation to escape his lips.

Despite his intentions of beginning the chat, Shang was the first to speak, “How have you been, Atelos?” The dry question left no room for a conversation, “Good. Good.” This social interaction left a dry, awkward feeling in the air. A witty joke came to Atelos mind and he chuckled to himself before speaking, “How is being a secretary, oh Triumvir Tsung?” An unearned, smug grin spread across his face as the Sorcerer rolled his eyes at the comment. Hours of these travels went by with these awkward interactions becoming less and less frequent. The two eventually got back into a rhythm that was second nature to them.

“The child shot at me with not a gun but a crutch!” Shang recounted the tale of his victories in the Colosseum with amusement. The Spartan hollered at the top of his lungs, laughing until his eyes watered. “You see sorcerer, I thought I was the funny one but you. You’re the charmer.” His laughter continued for too long and the recruits tailing behind them looked concerned for the sanity of their Captain. Shang, however, was familiar with the Spartan’s easily tickled funny bone. His laughter died, down all too suddenly as the appearance of thick smoke began to suffocate the sky.

“Shang.” The sorcerer’s face grew serious, “I know.” Atelos turned his head towards the group before speaking somberly, “We’re here.” Atelos knew what to expect of what Drow did with intruders, but the recruits weren’t as prepared. Within a few minutes, the source of the smog was visible and the stench of burning human flesh permeated through the air. The scouts’ corpses laid on the ground in horrific positions. Their bodies were burned to a complete char, their hands outreached begging for either mercy or help. Atelos heard one of the recruits retch, while the others muttered solemn prayers to themselves.

Shang put a hand on the Spartan’s shoulder, “I’m sure they were good men Captain. They were heroes.” The Spartan looked up at his friend, with a distasteful tone in his voice, “You're not the one that has to tell their families.”

“You dh’oine never learn do you. May their bodies serve as a warning to leave us.” The voice echoed and Atelos searched for its source. There was absolutely nothing in these burning fields and the looming smoggy forests could be a great source of cover for the offenders. Atelos dropped down from his horse and donned his rusty shield. A rush of adrenaline flew threw his body, making his heart race like it hadn’t in such a long time. Oh how he missed the frontline of battle.

“You murdered my men. This is where you will die!” Atelos shouted into the nothingness, eager for his opponents to show his face. Fire collected into his hand as his spear began to materialize into life. He pounded his spear against his shield, before letting out a growl.

“You humans never learn. May your death be a lesson to your underlings.” Red eyes materialized from the foggy forest, as a squad of drow emerged from the shadows. The leader was wearing a cowl and began to chant and wave his hands. Fire was born from the space in his hands and he fired it towards the Spartan. Atelos advanced, the fireball imminent towards burning his flesh. The recruits behind him looked on fearfully, while Shang had no sense of worry.

As the fireball was about to collide, the Spartan raised his shield to block the oncoming fire. The threat dissipated harmlessly onto the bronze shield, the drows’ faces becoming slightly more worried. More of the group began chanting their own fireballs, but Atelos dashed towards them with inhuman speed. Their target suddenly upon them, they stumbled backwards onto the ground. Atelos sprinted towards the leader, suddenly upon him and his spear slid through the drow’s chest. The other drow drew daggers and charged the Spartan warrior. As he ripped the spear from the leader’s chest, he whipped his shield towards his new attackers colliding the bronze with their skulls. As the body hit the ground from the whiplash the Spartan brought down his shield, smashing their skull. A dagger slid into Atelos’ shoulder, giving him as much pain as a paper cut. He quickly rose, bring his spear through the throat of the drow who stabbed him. As the last drow began to panic and run, Atelos withdrew his spear and brought his arm back and launched the spear. The drow made it about to the edge of the forest before the spear pierced his leg and pinned him to the ground.

Atelos walked over, the squirming drow trying to remove the spear from his leg before the bulky grecian was upon him. The drow raised his arms covering his face pleading for mercy. Atelos, with no look of sympathy on his face, bashed his shield into the drow’s throat, crushing his neck, letting the drow suffocate.

Shang and the recruits quickly caught up to the Spartan. “Sorry I didn’t leave you any sorcerer. I got a little carried away.” Shang put his hand on his comrades shoulder before calmly speaking, “I know you needed it.”

[Shang Tsung]

The drow had receded into the shadows, but anyone who had dealings with the dark elves knew they would return. Throughout the last two years, they had steadily declined as a nuisance to Darkshire, but they had never truly vanished from public memory. One every couple of months, someone would discover the corpse of a farmer or merchant mutilated by the vile creatures.

Yet, for all the irritation they provided, Shang appreciated the drow. If not for their attempts to destabilize Darkshire, the sorcerer would still be on the outside of the established order. The dark elves’ efforts to wage psychological warfare against the frequently beleaguered and besieged city had allowed it to shed its old order and develop into something stronger and more stable. Without the drow, Shang Tsung (and Atelos, for that matter) would just be another soldier patrolling the walls.

Like many thoughts, the bureaucrat kept those thoughts to himself.

“What’s the next move, Sirs?”

Shang turned to see that the question had been posed by Private Lopez. The woman had broken a sweat, but she seemed to be holding herself together a little better than her peers.

What ever happened to that night elf with the Puerto Rican accent? Shang recalled such a warrior a few years ago. Mireya. She had traveled with the steel boy and joined the ranks of the Defenders. He vaguely recalled that she had arrived in the aftermath of the assault and stayed a while helping the injured and wounded. Under normal circumstances, Shang usually kept a close eye on Defenders, whether they were primes or secondaries, because nine times out of ten, they were some of the more reliable persons in the city.

“Sirs?”

When he heard the tepid inquiry a second time, the sorcerer turned to face the Spartan, who stood deadly still with his eyes focused on the woods. While Lopez was speaking in the plural, the man in the bronze armor was her superior.

Anyone who is a fan of physical fitness will give you a similar warning: If you stop exercising, you will get weaker. Muscles, when given the opportunity to do nothing, will grow softer as they are cannibalized by the rest of your body for energy and macromolecules. There were other types of muscles than the ones that operated an individual’s skeletal system. ‘Muscle memory’ was more than just a soldier ducking at the sound of a faraway explosion.

Shang’s mental muscles took a while, but when they clicked, they did so with all the impact of a runaway train.

The taut muscles. The narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. The slightly depressed breathing.

They were the Spartan’s ‘tells’—tells that indicated a reality that would be filled with blood, bruises, and flayed tissues.

Atelos sprung just as the lance of fire came blazing from the trees. The Spartan hit the ground shoulder-first and rolled with his momentum up into a crouch. Crossbow bolts buzzed from the trees, and while four of them clanged uselessly against the bronze shield, a trio sank into the warrior’s right calf and shin.

Drawing the jian, Shang Tsung turned his focus into the forest and rushed into the fray. At least eight quarrels had issued forth, which meant there were probably close to a dozen drow lurking in the area, with four of those creatures concealed above or below. The sorcerer couldn’t turn his head for fear of projectiles, but he heard the clamor of steel behind him and orders being barked between the squad of soldiers. If they were smart, they would form a protective phalanx—they would be at a disadvantage if they tried to pursue the dark elves into the cover of the trees.

“Come out and face me!” Shang bellowed as something flashed to life along his left hand.

Fire!

Instinct told the man to drop down and attempt to extinguish the flames that had manifest on his arm, but he paused long enough to look at them with a little more scrutiny.

No heat…

It was a classic drow trick—faerie fire.

While it didn’t cause him to panic, the cantrip stole from Shang the focus he needed to prepare for the two figures to drop down onto him from above. In a flash, a dagger slashed across the bureaucrat’s left bicep. Blood petaled out along the length of the wound as the other dark elf landed a long, vertical cut down his target’s chest. That second attack failed to cut through the thick robes, but the stinging pain in his arm prevented Shang from a rapid follow-up attack.

Clasping his opposing hand over the torn, bloody sleeve of his left arm, the Defender of Darkshire backed up at the drow stalked in for the kill. The sneering dark elves were close, but they weren’t close enough to prevent their prey from throwing out a palm. That same distance also meant that the targeted drow didn’t have the space to evade the immolated skull that erupted forth from the bureaucrat’s palm. The heat and concussive force blew apart the drow’s thin armor and removed enough flesh and muscle to showcase parts of a few ribs.

The surviving dark elf drove forward and stabbed his curved blade at the sorcerer’s ribs. The attack, fueled more by desperation than determination, sliced through empty air as Shang shifted to the side.

Exposed and overextended, a look of horror twisted the drow’s usually stoic features in the moments before the elbow smashed through the side of its jaw.

“Cherish these moments,” Shang whispered as he drew the jian and plunged it down through the small of the dark elves’ back. After taking a few moments to relish as the sub-human monster writhed and died beneath him, the sorcerer wrenched the blade free.

Hubris wasn’t a foreign concept to the sorcerer.

He knew very well the limits of his ego.

On this occasion, his reveling in the slaughter of some nothing drow left him exposed as a quartet of crossbow quarrels slammed into his shoulder, chest, and upper arm. While the pain would subside, it was the burning he felt almost immediately that brought Shang the most discomfort.

Some sort of poison. The drow love the stuff.

His senses weren’t impaired, so the sorcerer quickly recoiled from the direction of the attackers. Stooping low to the ground, he lurched through the tree line. As he emerged from the brush, a second volley of quarrels went overhead—missing him by hairs and inches.

Sliding to his knees, Shang glanced up to see a very elegant phalanx of Darkshire soldiers. One of the shields parted to reveal a face that was starting to become blurred around the edges.

“Triumvir, are you okay?”

“Where is Captain Atelos?” The sorcerer barked as he took the short reprieve to catch his breath.

“He’s still fighting in the forests…”

Shang Tsung cursed beneath his breath as he shoved up from his knees and turned back to the trees. Unlike before, the foul woods seemed to loom miles into the sky and cast the darkest shadows he’d ever seen. “I’ll be back,” he muttered as he drew the Day’suis from his back. The weapon glowed bright as he rushed into the unknown in search of his former compatriot.

With the golden rays of the hammer clearing a path through the shadows, Shang quickly found Atelos wrestling on the ground with a pair of drow. Four feet away, three dark-skinned corpses lay in still-expanding pools of blood.

Without pause, Shang dashed forward—his legs quavering but not failing him. The Day’suis descended in a glittering arc and crushed the skull of one drow into the blighted soil below.

Vision blurred but understanding that help had come, Atelos let out a growl and slammed a knee into the dark elf hunched over him.

“Here comes the light,” the sorcerer cackled as the air around the hammerhead sizzled.

The drow managed to make it three paces from Atelos before the bolt of lightning tore through his chest.

[Atelos]

Atelos got up, his mind hazy and his vision blurred. A pale figure extended his hand, most likely Shang Tsung. The details of the man’s face remained a mystery beyond the pale complexion and the dark, coarse hair. As Atelos got onto his feet, both men stumbled around, trying to find some sort of balance. Atelos reached towards the back of his shoulder blade and ripped one of the drow’s venom coated daggers and let it fall to the ground. The poison coursed through his body, making time seem to slow and his body not responsive. He reached out his hand, and grabbed onto the Sorcerer’s shoulder before speaking with a horrible slur.

“Sorcer’ is that you?” The words came very slowly to him and he had some trouble speaking. “I think...I think that’s the last of em’. Can we find where they came from?” He raised his hand to clutch his forehead as a sharp pain ran through his brain as if some animal was clawing at it.

Shang Tsung moved Atelos’ hand off of his shoulder before stepping forward and inspecting the trodden dirt. Shang’s style of speech seemed nowhere near as impaired as Atelos’, “I had no idea you were such a lightweight Captain.” A sly smirk rose to his face, but not long after he clutched his own head in pain. The drow’s poison began to seep into his brain, a cluster of headaches began to fire off in his brain, drowning out  the sorcerer’s tracking ability.

A pained smile came to the Spartan’s face. He thought for a minute trying to come up with a clever retort, but his already slow wit was impaired. “Well Shang?”  Shang looked up at the Spartan before shaking his head sullenly.

“I can’t seem to focus right now. We’ll have to see if we can track it in the morning. We should go catch up with the recruits.” The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, flowing beautiful shades of purple and orange in the sky. This beauty was rather bittersweet as night in the Moors were especially dangerous. Atelos nodded at Shang before beginning to head out of the woods to meet with the recruits.

The squad of recruits sighed a breath of relief once they saw the two primes exit the forest relatively unharmed. The group rushed to the Prime Duo and Atelos’ knees buckled as they caught up to them. The recruits let out a concerned gasp before Shang could explain the situation. “Drow Poison. Nasty stuff but we’ll get over it by morning. Come with me, let’s gather some firewood for the night.”

The recruits’ faced paled at the idea of sleeping outside of the city. Recruit Lopez spoke up against the Triumvir, “Sir but what about the monsters that come out after dark.” Her voice quivered in fear, reflecting the other recruits legs. The stabbing pain in the Sorcerer’s head left him little room for patience, “Atelos and I are Defenders of Darkshire and will protect you. Even in these states you have little to worry about. Come get firewood with me, it will get dark soon.” His voice had a little tone of annoyance before he headed off, leaving Atelos to his own devices.

The Spartan lifted his heavy arms off the ground in an attempt to pull himself up but everything in his body felt lethargic. His eyelids dropped for a mere moment, with every blink everything felt more tired until he fell asleep.

Atelos’ eyelids fluttered open as he say Shang and the rest the recruits sitting next to an open fire. The recruits eyes were wide with fear as the lived on the edge, while Shang looked passive and groggy. The Spartan lifted his torso up, rubbing his head, as he felt a pulsing sensation pound through his head.

“Glad you’re back with us Spartan.” The sorcerer’s voice scratched Atelos’ eardrums. The Spartan lethargically got up from his seat and sat next to the sorcerer. The warm crackle of the fire brought a smile onto his face.

“You all must be tired after looking over me. I can take watch.” The sorcerer gave him a swift nod before heading over the the area Atelos had taken his nap. The recruits attempted to fight off the sandman, but constant fear and stress is tiresome. With all of their backs against one another, one by one, they winked out of consciousness.

The Spartan sat by the warmth of the fire, the bronze shield laid down by his side. Hours went by with no interruption, his yawning became more and more frequent. His senses weren’t as alert, but the pounding migraine was slowly becoming a thing of the past. A cold metal was placed against his throat before a gritty voice whispered.

“You killed my brethren Dh’ione. Now it’s time for you to watch your’s die.” Black shadows loomed and tiptoed to the other sleeping group members, unsheathing their poison tipped daggers.

Without pause, Atelos launched his helmeted head back into the Drow’s face, the dragger slicing the upper part of his neck, missing his jugular. The drow fell back onto his ass and Atelos turned to grab his shield. Habit took over as he let a spear form in his hand, “Spartans!” he shouted as he jumped, thrusting his spear into a drow’s throat. With a jolt, everyone was awake and immediately was thrust into battle. The sneaking drow no longer cared for stealth and the recruits and Shang rushed to defend themselves. A drow was overhead Shang as he awakened, the poisoned dagger plunging into the sorcerer’s stomach. Two long blades unsheathed from the sorcerer’s arms and he deflected the blow. He immediately jumped onto his feet, getting into an offensive stance, preparing to slice the drow up. The recruits managed to defend themselves quite well, rushing for their shields and got into formation. A few drow tried to penetrate the squadron, but were thwarted by their excellent positions. The drow would strike, be blocked by the large shields, and the recruits behind the front line would make an offensive strike. Atelos felt a bit of pride as he looked at the recruits, before ripping the spear out of the drow.

The drow Shang was facing took a more evasive stance, attempting to avoid every blow the Sorcerer threw at him. The drow let a sly smirk crawl onto his face before the Sorcerer had decided he had enough. Shang raised a leg and let out a cry, a flaming skull erupting out of his hands and colliding with the drow. The drow that had threatened Atelos had jumped onto his back, stabbing his stomach with the poisoned blade. Atelos arched back, forcing the drow to collide with the ground. Atelos turned himself over on top of the drow and brought the spear up ready to plunge into the drow’s chest.

“Wait.” Shang spoke with conviction. “These drow never stop coming. We need this one for information.” Atelos nodded his head and dropped his spear to the ground, still sitting on the drow, immobilizing him. The drow looked up with hatred and spat in Atelos’ face.

“Death before dishonor!” His voice was coated with venom. Atelos’ breathing became deeper and slower. His neck jolting in both directions, letting out disturbingly loud cracks of his vertebrae. He eyes began to gloss over and his body language changed.

“We can arrange both.” The Spartan’s voice shifted half an octave up and he had a creepy smile on his face. Atelos shifted into a better position and grabbed the drow’s hand. Without any words nor hesitation he snapped the drow’s fingers one by one until the all of the digit’s on the drow’s hand were broken. The drow’s screams of pain and mercy fell upon deaf ears and the Spartan happily giggled during the process.

“Now let’s see if you’re a little more talkative.” Atelos tilted his head a little before speaking again. “I sure hope not. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.

[Shang Tsung]

“I could have done that without the mess,” Shang Tsung muttered as Hades wiped the blood from his grimy hands. The dark-eyed Spartan sneered as he paid a final glance over his shoulder at the mutilated corpse of the drow.

“And I’m sure it would have been a lot less enjoyable.“

The sorcerer shook his head even though he wore a smile. “He said they have an outpost in the region?”

“Six hundred meters north-north-west, near the part where the river meets the mountains.”

“And you trust his information?”

Hades grinned. “Either way, I’m sure we’ll find more drow waiting to join their damn little spider bitch in oblivion.”

Shang Tsung gave a nod and glanced back to their makeshift bivouac. “We’ll leave them here. There’s no chance they will survive an assault on any sort of fortified dark elf position.”

“Then they can die soaking up some of those fucking poison bolts for us.” Hades chuckled. “I mean, they can die for the glory of Darkshire.”

Once again, the sorcerer shook his head, but this time, he did so to conceal the faint smirk on his muddied features. “Your better half would have too much paperwork if we lose his entire squad on this mission.

The dark Spartan rolled his eyes as he took a few steps toward their eventual destination. “Don’t dawdle, Sorcerer, or there will be none for you.” With that, he started a slow march, leaving Shang Tsung to hurriedly deal with the loose ends. With Hades receding into the forest, the bureaucrat rushed back to the recruits. It was easy to tell that all of them were cold, hungry, and afraid, yet their resolve kept them from complaining or losing their heads.

With their attention shifting to him as he emerged from the brush, the sorcerer lifted a hand to make sure they saw his identity and did not attack. “Calm. Captain Atelos and I are going to move ahead to neutralize a den of these creatures further into the forest.”

“We’re to stay here?” One of the recruits inquired.

“Form a defensive bulkwark here, where the forest gives way to the plains. If any of the drow attempt to flee into the open, you are to cut them down. With any luck, this display will be enough to cow them for a few months.”

“How will the two of you survive attacking a fortified drow position?” Another recruit asked, eliciting a grin from Shang Tsung.

“Do you know of whom you speak?” The sorcerer asked. “Your captain and I survived Silent Hill. We survived the great god of this place. He helped slay the Tarrasque. We are wholly capable, but we need a reliable second line. Can you be that line?”

“Aye aye!” The soldiers barked as they hustled to ready themselves. With some luck, they would be unnecessary, but Shang Tsung didn’t want to leave any gaps in their strategy.

Turning from the fresh-faced recruits, the sorcerer rushed ahead to join his ally.

It was only through a stroke of luck that Shang Tsung reached Hades just as the dark Spartan arrived at the outskirts of the drow base. Lifting a clenched fist at the sound of his companion’s boots on the ground, the Grecian warrior gestured with his other hand toward a cave nestled in the foothills to their left. Like a scar across an otherwise gorgeous face, the tiny mountain range left a gash in the trees that lasted all the way until these glorified foothills fused into the greater Carpathian range.

“That’s a red herring,” Shang whispered as he slowly walked up next to Hades.

The Spartan turned a scowl toward his fellow warrior. “What do fish have to do with this situation?”

“It means they are misleading us. Why would creatures as smart and insidious as the drow bivouac inside a cave?”

“Underground tunnels? Could connect to their mother city. ”

“That makes it even worse,” Shang whispered. “They trick us into getting lost in a bunch of dark tunnels.”

“You’re too cautious.”

From behind the pair, a female voice spoke in haughty tones that rankled both men. “You’re both idiots.”

Shang spun just in time to absorb the bolt of fel energy as it crashed against his chest. The man, his body a ragdoll compared to the force of the blast, went sailing twenty feet backwards before crashing against the base of the rising cliffs.

“Bitch.” Hades seethed as he drew his spear and rushed the lithe figure. The drow priestess sneered as she evaded the initial thrust of the bronze weaponry. Sidestepping away from her attacker’s strong side, she quickly summoned up another burst of magicks that sent the Grecian tumbling to the ground.

“Your misery is just beginning,” she spoke as a woozy sorcerer noticed that the trees were shaking as if a gale force wind had started to blow through the forest. Steeling himself for the fight to come, Shang rose to his feet and adjusted the silver ring he wore. The icon emblazoned on it glowed faintly—a reminder of the power contained within its humble design. It knew that the sorcerer would soon call upon its might, and the ring would not disappoint him, even if he had yet to find a culpable means to reproduce its capabilities with lesser folk.

For the moment, Shang Tsung let his attention be drawn to the trees that were now behind the priestess. Slender figures dropped down from the canopy as yet another drow strike team materialized from the shadows. Like a waterfall, they pour forth and crashed into Hades, who had quickly regained his composure. The Spartan, seething with fury, stood resolute against the attackers. Foul, dark blood sprayed through the night air as the well-oiled machine and muscle and steel tore into his would-be assailants.

It seemed as if the battle would be a fast one.

And then the trees exploded.

At his distance from the carnage, the sorcerer wasn’t showered with broken branches and chunks of dismembered tree. His ally, however, was caught in the side of the head and lost his balance. If not for the general state of disarray in the drow ranks, they could have slain their foe then and there.

From the shattered edge of the forest, a monstrous creature strode forward.

The top half of the beast was that of a male drow wreathed in heavy armor and wielding a pair of blades that should be too heavy for it.

From the waist down, there were no nimble legs. The bottom half of the abomination was the hulking, grotesque form of a massive spider, with eight clawed legs the width of a fully grown man.

The drider—a thirteen-foot behemoth—let out an animal screech from what had once been the mouth of an intelligent creature. Blades clenched at the ready, it came barreling toward the dazed Spartan.

Shang Tsung, aware of the dark shapes now forming to his right, rush to the side of his ally.

[Atelos]

A branch from a nearby tree flew itself against the Spartan’s head, twirling him around and barely letting him keep on his feet. Hades woozily swayed on his feet, with a loud, ringing in his ears. In his blurred vision, two Shang Tsung’s came to his side. Hades turned his head to see a large Drider coming right at him and prepared for the impact. He closed his eyes and tensed his muscles before he heard a loud thud. He turned to see a large orange wall cracking beneath the drider’s attacks. The two Shang Tsung’s came to one and the ringing sound had diminished quite a bit.

“Gather your wits, I can’t do this all day,” Shang spoke with a strained voice, obviously using an enormous amount of concentration to maintain the construct.

“It might be fun to see you try,” Hades attempted to banter with the sorcerer. He drew his spear and readied his shield. “I’m sorry but it seems like these Drow want to play with me. I’m sure you can handle the Drider, Sorcerer.” His voice was thick with sass and sarcasm, prodding at Shang. With that final sentence he started to execute the Drow that wanted Shang’s blood. Shang still fought to keep the Drider at bay, a crack continuing to spread across the wall.

“Spartan!” A sense of urgency was clearly in his voice as he tried to keep the Drider contained.

“Busyyyy,” Hades cheerfully replied, stabbing Drow that had begin to back away from the spreading sea of Drow bodies Hades had created. He took great pleasure in taking the Spartan’s body and murdering with it.

“SPARTAN!” Shang cried. Hades turned his head from his spree to see the Drider break open the wall, knocking Shang over as if he had been struck himself. The Drider flourished its weapons and advanced towards Shang, clearly upset at its delay.

“Fuck,” Hades turned to deal with the Drider as Shang recovered. The half-spider half-drow abomination swung its plethora of swords at the Spartan. Holding up his shield, the drow’s blades clattered useless against it. However, the torrent of blades didn’t stop, one slash after another. One of the blows swung his shield to the side, allowing for a sword to slash across his chest. Steaming black ooze began to seep out of his wound. Hades made no hesitation and reached inside the wound to gather some his blood and toss it into the Drider’s face. The monstrosity screeched in pain as the blood began to sear it’s Drow face. Hades took this time to run beneath the Drider and smack his shield into its one of its rear legs. The exoskeleton snapped at the pressure of the metal, forcing the Drider to rebalance itself on its other legs. Hades looked at Shang, happily contending with the drow, with much less effort than he.

He mumbled to himself, watching as the Sorcerer easily dispatched the oncoming Drow. Hades only had a moment to do so as the Drider swiftly turned to his attacker, wiping the caked blood from his burnt face. The Drow opened its mouth to let out a sound that could only be described as a nightmarish cicada. It’s sword descended quickly onto Hades, however this left a pause for Hades to attack. He moved his shield to the side and quickly jabbed his spear into the Drow’s abdomen but the Drider spit a green bile onto him, burning his skin and weighing him down. Hades, furious at the grotesque monster’s attack, threw his shield into the Drider’s face, letting a sweet, solid clang before the shield fell to the ground. Hades ran underneath the beast and brought up his spear through the soft underbelly of the spider. Green blood spurted out and he dug the spear in deeper, grinding it against the monster’s internal organs. The Drider screamed out in pain before falling over on it’s side, passing away unceremoniously.

Hades retrieved his shield and attempted to get the thick bile off of himself as he saw Shang finish off the rest of the Drow. A sword pierced through Hades chest, right through his heart. The Drow priestess stepped from behind Hades and kicked him off the blade, letting him sink into the ground. She scoffed before muttering incomprehensible elvish to herself. Shang finished off the last of the Drow to see the Spartan collapse to the ground. The Drow Priestess laughed to herself as she met Shang in the battlefield, preparing a spell in one hand.  

“You stupid humans should never have come here. The Drow rule this land.” Her tone was filled with racist arrogance, obviously harboring a large distaste for other species. Shang’s eyes darted to the movement behind her. Hades brought himself to his knees, his legs wobbling underneath the pressure. A fire was lit in his eye that was less playful than before but more a combination of pure rage from both Atelos and Hades. Thick blood poured out of his chest and into the palm of his hand, sizzling as he bled. The two made eye contact and Shang gave him the look to stay still.

“Your scouting party was the first of many to die. You have gotten too bold for your kind and us Drow will cull your numbers until you are afraid to leave your precious city of Darkshire.” Ironically revealing her plot as if she were a movie villain, she raised her arm to cast her spell. Shang beat her to the quickdraw, a claw emerging from his ring, grasping her arm tightly, preventing it from moving. Hades took this as his cue and took his handful of blood and poured it over her shoulder and onto her body, sizzling the flesh as it trailed down.

Her screams of pain echoed through the forest, sending many a crow flying out of their nests.

[Shang Tsung]

The drow priestess shrieked as the blood boiled her flesh. Swollen mounds of ebony skin burst, and as they did, they spread the pestilence to nearby tissue. Within a matter of minutes, there was nothing left but mounds of ruptured flesh.

“Is it over?”

Shang furrowed his brow and turned at the sound of the softer tones. His Spartan companion shared his gaze, and in those eyes, the sorcerer saw that the storm had passed once again. With the squalls calmed, the captain sailed the oceans once again. “He left?”

Atelos nodded his head as he reached a hand down to his side. “The fighting taxed him—taxed us both.” The bronze armor had failed in more than a few locations, but it was there that it had been compromised down to his flesh. Blood had dyed the dull yellow plates with streaks of orange, and the warrior’s meaty hand was likewise smeared red. Unlike with a normal human, the Spartan’s lifeblood was a thick ichor, undoubtedly some side-effect of his bond with the entity Hades. “He’ll return once again when the killing fields are rife for his harvest.”

“Lovely,” Shang muttered as he took a step forward. Almost instantly, he felt his right leg buckle.

“Sorcerer!” Atelos rushed to catch his friend, but in doing so, the Spartan lost his own equilibrium. With a dull thump, the Grecian clipped Shang, pitched sideways, and collapsed into a heap. A few yards away, Shang had likewise toppled over like a stack of cards struck by a strong breeze.

There was a moment of silence as the two stared up at the green-tinted blackness of the skies.

Then the two fully grown men started to laugh at the top of their lungs.

Neither really, truly knew what was funny about the situation, but that didn’t stop either of them.

By the time they caught their breath, the Defenders of Darkshire pull themselves up into a seated position and glanced at one another.

“Old times?” Shang inquired.

“Old times.” Atelos responded. “Although I am fairly certain I threw a hip.”

“You are capable of hurtling your pelvis?” The sorcerer deadpanned, eliciting a scowl from his companion.

“You think those recruits are still alive?”

Shang winced as he sat up off the ground. He was bloodied in a few places, and his right cheek had swollen, partially obscuring his vision. The wound would heal in soon order, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed. “I hope so. They should be able to handle a few panicked drow if they hope to survive on the walls of Darkshire.”

“Aye.” Atelos shot back as he clutched at the laceration in his side and stood up off the ground. When it seemed as if the Spartan would falter, Shang moved to catch him only to be stopped by the other hand. “I’m good. I’m not a pensioner just yet, Sorcerer.” Once he was on his feet, the Bronze Age warrior flicked the blood from his hand and grinned at his friend. “You okay coming out of retirement? You’re not going to go gray again, are you?”

The sorcerer scowled. “That was one time.”

The Spartan merely grinned as he collected his spear. While he didn’t complain about the pain, Atelos leaned heavily on the weapon as he limped alongside his equally banged up companion. In silence, the two made their way through the trees back toward their recruits. Although the region had felt sinister and foreboding on their initial march, their exeunt seemed almost tranquil. With the drow slain, the other creepy crawlies of the forest must have scattered as well. The result was a calm environment that likely would have felt at home somewhere in the pleasant climes of Camelot.

“Imagine what this place would be like without the evil,” Atelos whispered.

“I don’t need to imagine,” Shang replied, prompting a curious glance from his partner. “We’ll live long enough to see the monsters exorcised. Trust me. We’ll purge every last fel creature from this place and make it the envy of the Omniverse.”

“Nice stump speech. I didn’t know you had to run for election.”

Shang fought the urge to jam an elbow into his friend’s ribcage. “You’ve never given a rousing battlefield speech before, Spartan? Never boasted about standing strong against the enemy hordes. Didn’t you and your sword brothers stand tall against the Persians? Or were you fighting those Athenians and their damn democracy?”

The Spartan shook his head. “Those events were history to both of us, Sorcerer. My grandfather fought with the fleets at Aegospotami.”

“So where does that put you? The Corinthians? The Thebans?”

Atelos clenched a dirty, blood-stained fist. “Vile, just like the damn Athenians. They could have worked with Sparta, but they wanted our blood.”

“Damn Athenians.” Shang muttered. The sorcerer didn’t broach the topic of how the Spartans had eventually allied with the Persians to wage a war of intimidation against the other Greek city-states. The pair had swapped countless war stories, but Atelos rarely gave names to the foes he had fought. Shang had always assumed that the Spartan had been born into the glory days of his people—standing with King Leonidas at Thermopylae.

Instead, his ancient companion had lived in the twilight of Greek culture, where his people had gone at each other throats over influence and economy. Like many societies, the Grecians had eventually rot from within. They would be washed away by the Romans, who would experience nearly a millennium of hegemony before they themselves likewise eroded and collapsed.

The actors change, but so often, the story told by history is always the same.

The gift of history told Shang had had been born into one of his people’s ‘golden ages.’ He had returned various times over his lifetime, but there was nothing in those formative days that seemed to mark it as special in the grand scope. Was that the fate of a glorious culture? To be unaware that it was living at its zenith until it was already too late to stop the fall?

Atelos interjected into his ally’s train of thought. “Do you think we come from the same world, Sorcerer?”

It was a question that Shang Tsung had often pondered. “It’s possible, yes. If not the same world, I certainly believe we inhabited mirrored realms. As you said, both of histories of your people are the same.”

“Then tell me,” Atelos muttered before coming to a stop. His companion paused a few paces in front of him and glanced over his shoulder. “What befalls Sparta?”

Shang didn’t offer a response for a few moments. His hesitation told Atelos all he needed to know. “Who was it? Don’t you tell me it was those damn Athenians, Sorcerer.”

“You truly wish to know?”

“Aye.”

“You win the war with Corinth, but in the end, your armies overreach themselves. The Spartan military is soundly crushed in a battle that forever changes the balance of power in the peninsula.”

“We have lost battles before and recovered.”

Shang shook his head. “Your population had fallen too much by then. The helots became the majority and revolted.”

“That was the end? Atrophy and decay?” Atelos shook his head.

“A weakened Sparta remained free for centuries more than the rest of the Greek world, if it’s any consolation.”

“Sure.” The warrior grumbled. “And your people, Sorcerer? Did they wither away before being put out of their misery?”

“Just as bad,” Shang chuckled. “They had their periods of power, but then they spent centuries as the slaves of outsiders. It took them longer than the Greeks to regain their dignity.”

“May we learn from our peoples’ failures,” Atelos replied as they exited the forest. Before them, the recruits still breathed, and all around them, a ring of slain drow stood as testament to their resolve. “Now isn’t this a beautiful scene.”

[Atelos]

Atelos gave the recruits a hearty grin as he saw their success that lay before them. Recruit Lopez saluted, blood staining her shield and clothing. Her voice projected and they rest boosted up with confidence. Their newfound energy was astounding compared to the aching pains that the Spartan had to deal with. Hades was far too reckless for his own good.

“Captain Atelos! Recruit Lopez reporting, no Drow made it past our ranks sir!” Her voice trembled with a mixture of excitement, disbelief, and a bit of fear. She brought her arm down to her side although her body posture was stiff. Her face dropped as she saw the massive hole in Atelos chest, looking concerned she let out a gasp.

Atelos gave her a bright smile and waved off her concern, “Congratulations Lopez. You are all now Privates of the Darkshire army!” The recruits around her breathed a sigh of excitement, and although their physical bodies showed some wear and tear, they spirits seemed to lift. “Let’s go back home.” The party walked back to their short camp, somewhat surprised that their horses were still all in one piece. The Darkshire Protectors saddled their horses and began the trip home.

You know that felt good Spartan. We haven’t worked together in a long time. Atelos shook his head, the long dormant demon trying to become more active.

‘Hades. We both know that we somehow lost our strength. You can’t rush off like you used to. We may be more amicable but you cannot try and get me killed.’ Atelos scolded the inner daemon with his thoughts. He could feel Hades let out a mischievous grin.

That’s why you need to listen to me Spartan. Shudders went down Atelos’ spine. Hades once hyena like voice became silky and seductive, giving Atelos a glancing thought to listen to the God of Death.

Atelos mumbled to himself audibly, drawing the attention of the Sorcerer. The sorcerer gave him a half-smile, the Spartan’s internal conflict brought back nostalgia. Both primes had missed their trips together and disliked remaining idle.

With another few hours of the two primes enjoying a laugh with one another, the two were brought back to the Darkshire wall. While Shang’s wounds seemed a lot more superficial, Atelos’ gaping chest wound didn’t seem to make much progress in healing. He could feel his heart drop and his stomach clench, Hades’ influence was waning in his body. The once, spiderweb like tendrils that rebuilt his flesh weren’t there anymore. While this may have seemed like a blessing before, Atelos now had a responsibility. He was supposed to protect this place and Hades was half the reason on why he was so strong. Shang gave Atelos a curious, yet concerned look.

Atelos brushed off the glance and tried his best to appear confident and in charge. “Bring up the gates men!” His voice boomed and echoed through the air, with an immediate response of cogs turning, and the gate opening up. The party brought their horses in, the newly appointed privates waited ahead while Atelos and Shang went to go talk to the highest ranking officer here. Leading his horse to the side of the wall he could see one of his sergeants. He pointed to the officer before he spoke.

“Sergeant Brown, report to me the events that have gone on in my absence!” Atelos commanded.

The sergeant came rushing down the steps of the wall, giving the order to lower the gate as he walked down the steps. “Yes Captain Atelos! Your extermination party in the Werewolf District came back intact, reporting minimal sightings. Additionally, there had been some rumors that a vampire had infiltrated the ranks, however this source turned up false. Lastly, it had been reported that a select number of primes were asking about the Tarrasque, hopefully to exterminate it.”

Atelos’ face darkened at the last sentence. He hadn’t heard those words in a long time. “Excuse me Sergeant Brown. Did you say Tarrasque?” He raised his eyebrow, a vein bulging on his forehead.

“Yes sir. However, reports say the group of primes looked more than capable of taking care of it sir.” Brown looked almost happy in his report, unaware that his words had set off the Captain.

Atelos clenched his fist before screaming at the poor messenger. “How was I not told of this! This should have been of the utmost importance! How long has the beast been alive?”

The sergeant, intimidated by the rage quivered in fear, “F-for over a year now sir. I was told that the Tarrasque was a given and that you had more pressing matters.”

Shang Tsung piped up, “The Tarrasque? Why does this upset you Captain? It has plagued the Moors for quite some time.”

Atelos turned his head towards the sorcerer, gritting his teeth, “Because I fell the beast, personally.” His tone was less than friendly.

Hades voice slowly crept into the Spartan’s mind. Ah yes, the beast. You must remember the artefact of power, yes? This would be perfect for us to start our ascension. The voice trailed off, gone as quick as it came.

Atelos turned his head to Shang, “I must go to destroy the fiend again. It’s blood will be spilled by my hands once more. I would welcome your help in the upcoming battle. We must ride at once.” Atelos raised his spear in an attempt to gather a second wind but the pain from the gaping hole in his chest was more than enough to dampen his spirits.

Shang spoke up, showing slight concern for the Spartan’s health, “Although I also wish to destroy the nuisance, we have to rest from our battle. Neither of us are in the proper shape” Shang pointed to their numerous wounds.

Atelos gave Shang a stern look before nodding his head. “You are right Triumvir, we shall leave in the morning.” He gave a quick look to the gaping wound, “If my body permits it. In that case I shall head off and shall see you in the morn.” Atelos gave the sorcerer a quick wave goodbye before leading his horse to the barracks. The private were just behind Atelos, telling each other the story of their Drow slaughter as if they weren’t all present for it. The Spartan paid no mind, his headspace was preoccupied. Habitually, he walked through the barracks up into his quarters, lying comfortably on his bed, hoping for his wound to go away. Time passed and the sun sat, Atelos unable to sleep through it all.

“Hades. We need to talk.” His voice was filled with defeat and he sat upwards, looking out the window and into the clear sky’s moon.

“ Yes, Spartan? ”