The Choked Crater, the site of a cataclysmic impact even almost five hundred years ago, known as the Skyfade. Perpetually covered by a thick smog of volcanic excretia, the sky is perpetually red, glowing and angry during the day, and dark like a cooling ember at night. The air in many regions of lower elevation will suffocate and render the average person unconscious in seconds, killing them in minutes.
The ground was violently unstable, with geysers of superheated water and steam erupting regularly, some predictably, others seemingly randomly. What little standing water existed was so hot and acidic that any animal foolish or unlucky enough to fall in would leave no carcass, its entire corpse dissolved in hours.
Mirroring the dangerous land itself, the creatures that dwelt within were equally hazardous. From ants the size of one's foot to building-sized magma crabs, competition for real estate was intense in the Crater.
Far to the south, several hundred miles from where Nemesis sat in the direct center of the Choked Crater, lay a mountain range running east to west in an arc all the way across Ashreach. These are the Scoured Peaks, the southern arc of the gargantuan crater created by the Skyfade impact event.
The north face of this range features rock just as blasted and barren as the crater they tower above, like jagged gravestones marking the site of devastation. The southern face is covered by perpetual fog and rain. Moisture from the warm coast in the south builds and travels north, eventually reaching the Peaks, too tall for the clouds to climb. There they linger, dumping a perpetual torrent of rain.
This side of the Peaks is made of jagged bedrock, uplifted by the Skyfade impact and further exposed by torrential rain that scoured away any remaining dirt and stone over centuries. Though more hospitable than the Crater, the exposed bedrock makes building difficult, and the constant floods and landslides would obliterate any attempt. There are few plants and even fewer animals that dare to eke out an existence amidst the fog.
Between these two extremes exist small patches of green, hiding beneath the towering spires. Once or twice a year, a few clouds will weave their way between the lower Peaks, snaking along hidden paths until they reach valleys they can no longer pass. The water they dump there sustains these small, independent ecosystems.
Although not a paradise, these tiny green spaces are home to hardy plants like tubers, animals like rabbits and goats, and even hardier people. They have to be, for even the youngest of rabbits in these green patches feature a level above two hundred. It takes a high-level hunter to hunt even the smallest game.
And limited resources will inevitably lead to conflict.
Local warlords, descendants of the Vadenlaudian push into Ashreach almost two hundred years ago, fight constantly for territory within this narrow band of habitability. Each oversees a small community, and each constantly vie for power and territory.
And each of these warlords is receiving word of a world-shaking event in the Crater.
"Carga! Outta the way! I need to talk to Carga!" a wiry man shouted, sprinting through the camp like death itself was on his heels.
He crested the hill and pounded on a door. That this stone hut even had a door was symbolic enough of its owner's position. Few trees grew in the Strip, the small habitable section within the Peaks.
"Boss! I got news you gotta—" he started, his pounding growing louder.
Suddenly, the blade of an ax smashed through the center of the door, its edge inches from the man's face. He yipped, jumping back and staring at the gleaming ax blade as thunderous steps boomed from behind the door.
The ax disappeared, wrenched from where it was lodged, and the door opened to reveal a mountain of a man. He must be close to seven feet tall, and nearly as round. He resembled a pile of meat, only somewhat human. His arms were thick with muscle, his round gut somehow had distinct valleys between the abdominal muscles, and his bald head was crisscrossed with bulging veins that pulsed in time.
The wiry man gulped as the giant slowly approached, sheathing the equally enormous ax on his back.
"Better be good, Flint. I assume you ain't abandon your post and run all the way back just to interrupt my evening activities for somethin' trivial," the mountain, Carga, grunted.
Flint did not need further details. He could tell from the stench wafting through the hut's open door, and Carga himself, who wore only a thin blanket around his waist, caked in both blood and other fluids, what these 'evening activities' were.
"Boss, you ain't gonna believe it! I were watchin' the ravine like you's told me. I was real high up-like, you know, where the air gets cold, and yer nuts are stuck to the back of—" Flint began, interrupted by Carga reaching for his ax.
"Spit it out, godsdamn you!" he growled.
"The light, boss! The light 'round Nemesis has disappeared!" he squeaked.
Carga paused, his hand halfway reached for his ax. He studied Flint with a gaze as firm as the mountains surrounding him and, after determining Flint was not exaggerating, strode forward. He stood just a foot before Flint and crouched down so that their eyes were locked.
"You sure 'bout that?" he asked quietly, the gentleness more disconcerting than if he had yelled.
"Positive, boss. You'd see it yourself if the mountains weren't blockin' it. I ran straight back here soon as I noticed," Flint confirmed, his hands behind his back to hide the shaking.
"Good work, Flint," Carga said absentmindedly, standing straight, with a hand on his chin.
The two stood in silence for several long moments, Flint unsure that the compliment could be considered a dismissal. No matter how tired and hungry he was, he would not risk pissing Carga off by exiting without leave.
"Right, get yer ass back out there," Carga suddenly declared, pointing out the way Flint had come.
"Back out…to my lookout, boss?" Flint asked hesitantly.
Being allowed no time to rest or eat was unpleasant, but not the worst he could imagine.
"You're a scout, Flint, so go scout. I want information. The light disappearin' is a good start, but I wanna know what the ruins actually look like, what condition they're in," Carga clarified, counting information he desired on his fingers.
"I should go scout…the Crater, boss? You want me to actually go into the Crater?!" Flint asked, chuckling nervously, praying it was a joke or that he had misheard.
The Crater was the most dangerous place in the entire world, as far as he knew. The air could kill you, the land could kill you, and nearly every living thing within it could kill you as well. Those were just the living things that are active right now, too. Legend had it that there were terrible monstrosities active in the Crater two centuries ago that were just slumbering, waiting for the opportunity to awake and wreak havoc once again.
"That's where Nemesis is, yeah?" Carga said with a sneer.
"I-i-it…it is, yeah," Flint sighed, his fear dissolving into resignation.
"Good, then get going. Don't be stupid. Just go in, take a peek, and come back. I wanna know what the place looks like. The old myths say it was a sight to behold, but being scoured by that energy for so long surely ain't leave much standing.
"But who knows? Could be some powerful artifacts locked away in some secure vault or somethin'. So, you just poke around for a while and come back. Watch out for interlopers. Doubt you're the only one who noticed. Other clans'll be lookin' for loot, too," Carga finished, turning around and stalking down the hill without waiting for a response, still wearing only a thin blanket.
"Dalric! Get yer ass over here!" he called into the fading twilight, not slowing down.
He reached the bottom and turned, winding his way through the huts whose doors were cracked, oblivious or uncaring about the eyes that peered out, carefully watching him. He strode confidently toward a corner, an odor growing stronger with proximity.
He finally arrived at a square hole carved into the cold, hard ground. Within, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, were people of all shapes and sizes. Some stood, some sat, and some lay on the ground, resembling corpses. The only commonality between them all was the glowing collar they wore.
Carga walked along the side of the pit until he arrived at a metal pole driven into the ground, a young girl chained to it by both wrists and ankles. She looked to be in her early teens, with pointed ears poking through the matted hair that lay in a heap atop her head. She, too, wore a collar that glowed a subtle red, and she had the eyes of a cornered animal.
Her pupils widened as they took in all the light the fading sun could provide, tracking his approach. When he was only a few feet from her, tattoos covering her body lit up in vibrant blue, casting a ray of noonday sunlight into the space. Carga chuckled and stepped back, covering his eyes with his arm.
The light faded, and Carga lowered his arm, revealing a feral claw inches from his nose. The elf girl's gray skin had shifted into dark blue fur. Her nails had become claws with vicious serrations. Her matted white hair had grown down her back until it was nearly to the floor, and her eyes shone a bright blue, the pupils slit like a predator's.
"You called, boss…" Dalric said, running around the bend, disheveled from head to foot.
He skidded to a stop, the sight of some sort of predatory cat-elf hybrid inches from gutting his boss chilling him, a cold he felt in his bones. The collar, which stopped nearly everything the Words provided, could not stop this girl's cat power—whatever it was.
They had lost two good men to her before they realized what a threat she was and took appropriate measures. Dalric never fully understood why Carga had not simply killed her. She was far more trouble than she was worth.
"Didja hear, Dalric?" Carga called, not taking his eyes off the girl before him. "Light 'round Nemesis disappeared. Got Flint scoutin' it."
His mouth twisted into a wicked smile as he watched steam rising from the girl's body, her fur disappearing, her claws retreating. She slumped to the ground with a jangle of chains and huffed, as if she had just run a mile.
"Might finally have some use for ya, eh?" Carga laughed as he locked eyes with her, sparks practically flying from their glares.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter