merchant to share their camp.
The stranger said, “It has been a long
journey since I left the city. Although, I fear it is not over
yet.” He sank in front of the fire across from Nishka. He sighed
and shut his dark eyes.
“A great tragedy has befallen the city.
Someone led an assault against a local temple. The temple was
dedicated to the worship of Astalla. The people say there were no
survivors.” He stroked the side of his horse, comforting the tired
creature. “I left Sepulzer shortly after the atrocity. As soon as I
heard about the attack, I gathered my belongings and left. I’ll
take my business elsewhere—where I won’t die!”
“We left Sepulzer not long ago,” Nishka
said with concern.
“Nothing of value was taken,” the
merchant continued. “According to the city guards, the crime was
carried out with a bladed weapon.” He shook his head in what could
only be dismay. He bit his lip as if reluctant to speak his mind.
“They were slaughtered like animals.”
For many moments no one spoke. He
looked toward the direction he had come, as though he could still
feel the pain and horror creeping up the road.
“What is their religion?” Arxu
asked.
“Astalla is the demigoddess of
virginity. Her disciples are comprised of virgins and people
seeking spiritual purity. They honor their relationship with their
demigoddess by resisting the desires of the flesh and tending their
spirit with generosity and love.”
“Would someone kill Astalla’s faithful
for ideological means?”
“Many men believe virginity in a man
denotes weakness, an unwillingness to have power, sexual defect, or
all of the above,” he casually replied. “In addition, a
distribution of the public believes that virginity is just a tool
for ideological people who fool themselves into thinking they are
righteous.” He sighed morosely and again his gaze wandered to the
distance. “I don’t know what kind of monster would do this, nor
why. It is inhuman.”
Nishka met Arxu’s eyes. There was so
much she wanted to say to him in that moment. She couldn’t fathom
how any human could hurt so many innocent people. No logic, no
matter how twisted, could justify such crimes.
Chapter 7
Margzor stalked fearlessly into the
unknown. Nothing could disturb or horrify him that overshadowed
what he had witnessed in the past few years.
Just as he drifted through the
wilderness, so did his mind disconnect, careening down memories
accumulated over the past twenty years. He could not focus on
anything besides the imagery he had witnessed in the temple. He
remembered the look in the eyes of the women within: utter horror
and something more. Aversion.
He could remember the disgust in their
eyes, raw terror and dread, something that went far beyond fear. He
sucked in a deep breath and buried the anger. Something deep within
him rumbled like laughter, a mocking sound vexing against his mind.
More than any other creature that
acknowledged his existence, the most beautiful women always
regarded him with aversion, bordering on hatred.
He examined his hands, wondering what
he had become. What had compelled him to crawl on all fours, eating
the carrion of deer and wolves, stalking on the edge of society?
Deep inside, he knew the answer, but he dismissed it. He did not
want to think about the source of his hatred. His past would be
irrelevant once he reached his goal.
But he feared his childhood would
nonetheless haunt him until he died. His past was a blur, that much
he knew; he couldn’t even remember becoming a man. Childhood seemed
to abruptly end.
Suddenly, one day, he was a boy running
through the thickets, bleeding from a dozen wounds, terrified and
lost. Crimson stains flowed down his legs and sides. He had lost
control and plunged into the forest, losing himself in its occult
depths. He was reduced to eating deer, preying on weaker creatures
and scavenging the dead.
Margzor realized he had not eaten in
days, and his hunger was
The stranger said, “It has been a long
journey since I left the city. Although, I fear it is not over
yet.” He sank in front of the fire across from Nishka. He sighed
and shut his dark eyes.
“A great tragedy has befallen the city.
Someone led an assault against a local temple. The temple was
dedicated to the worship of Astalla. The people say there were no
survivors.” He stroked the side of his horse, comforting the tired
creature. “I left Sepulzer shortly after the atrocity. As soon as I
heard about the attack, I gathered my belongings and left. I’ll
take my business elsewhere—where I won’t die!”
“We left Sepulzer not long ago,” Nishka
said with concern.
“Nothing of value was taken,” the
merchant continued. “According to the city guards, the crime was
carried out with a bladed weapon.” He shook his head in what could
only be dismay. He bit his lip as if reluctant to speak his mind.
“They were slaughtered like animals.”
For many moments no one spoke. He
looked toward the direction he had come, as though he could still
feel the pain and horror creeping up the road.
“What is their religion?” Arxu
asked.
“Astalla is the demigoddess of
virginity. Her disciples are comprised of virgins and people
seeking spiritual purity. They honor their relationship with their
demigoddess by resisting the desires of the flesh and tending their
spirit with generosity and love.”
“Would someone kill Astalla’s faithful
for ideological means?”
“Many men believe virginity in a man
denotes weakness, an unwillingness to have power, sexual defect, or
all of the above,” he casually replied. “In addition, a
distribution of the public believes that virginity is just a tool
for ideological people who fool themselves into thinking they are
righteous.” He sighed morosely and again his gaze wandered to the
distance. “I don’t know what kind of monster would do this, nor
why. It is inhuman.”
Nishka met Arxu’s eyes. There was so
much she wanted to say to him in that moment. She couldn’t fathom
how any human could hurt so many innocent people. No logic, no
matter how twisted, could justify such crimes.
Chapter 7
Margzor stalked fearlessly into the
unknown. Nothing could disturb or horrify him that overshadowed
what he had witnessed in the past few years.
Just as he drifted through the
wilderness, so did his mind disconnect, careening down memories
accumulated over the past twenty years. He could not focus on
anything besides the imagery he had witnessed in the temple. He
remembered the look in the eyes of the women within: utter horror
and something more. Aversion.
He could remember the disgust in their
eyes, raw terror and dread, something that went far beyond fear. He
sucked in a deep breath and buried the anger. Something deep within
him rumbled like laughter, a mocking sound vexing against his mind.
More than any other creature that
acknowledged his existence, the most beautiful women always
regarded him with aversion, bordering on hatred.
He examined his hands, wondering what
he had become. What had compelled him to crawl on all fours, eating
the carrion of deer and wolves, stalking on the edge of society?
Deep inside, he knew the answer, but he dismissed it. He did not
want to think about the source of his hatred. His past would be
irrelevant once he reached his goal.
But he feared his childhood would
nonetheless haunt him until he died. His past was a blur, that much
he knew; he couldn’t even remember becoming a man. Childhood seemed
to abruptly end.
Suddenly, one day, he was a boy running
through the thickets, bleeding from a dozen wounds, terrified and
lost. Crimson stains flowed down his legs and sides. He had lost
control and plunged into the forest, losing himself in its occult
depths. He was reduced to eating deer, preying on weaker creatures
and scavenging the dead.
Margzor realized he had not eaten in
days, and his hunger was
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