Last Born Of The Desdemona

Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Plague King of Hood

Chapter 77 – Plague King of Hood

The buzzing sound was loud, so impossibly loud it felt like it could shatter the skull of anyone who stayed long enough to hear it.

Yet if anyone ever managed to set foot in that place, the buzzing of the small, weathered crimson-black flies that reeked of death, were made of death, and fed on death, would be the least of their concerns.

The place had no visible limit in the concept of space. It seemed to expand infinitely, riddled with collapsed buildings adorned with blood and fragments of flesh and organs. The ground was carpeted with half-eaten humans, maggots working through them, rotten expressions of pure terror frozen on their faces.

The scent was soaked in piss and shit and blood and sweat. And most importantly of all...in anguish, in unending despair that clung to the air like the clutch of death over every living thing.

It was, in all accounts, a place of death and misery that no being should be able to stomach. And yet, somehow, one being stood inside it with complete leisure.

Ah. Not one, after all. But two.

They stood at the shattered top of a collapsed house. At their feet were the faces of a mother, holding her babe tightly against her breast as if her body alone could shield it from the inevitable.

She had failed. And she had died with the horror of that failure carved into her face, watching her son’s small body wither toward its end.

”Something important?” One of the two beings spoke — an old-looking woman, wisps of wrinkles at the corners of her lips and eyes, bright crimson hair cut short and pixie-like, and eyes that were entirely black with no pupils.

Her face was eerily similar to Sefira Hood Desdemona’s, easily identifying her as Sefira’s mother. The Queen of the Badur Kingdom.

Her interlocutor was a strange one.

The man’s face could not be seen, neither could his physical body. Everything of him was shrouded by the same small, weathered crimson-black flies that composed the realm around them.

”Why, of course, would you assume something important happened, Morenna?” The Plague King of Hood said, his voice like a soft but ear-splitting buzzing.

”You summoned me to this realm of yours.” Morenna Hood answered calmly, arms crossed over her chest, sweeping her eyes across the destruction. ”That means it’s important enough to hide even from their gaze. So tell me, is it related to the recent upheaval between the Stormblessed and the alchemists?”

”Indeed.” The King nodded slowly, surveying his realm. ”But not only. We are making no progress in bringing the Tribes of the Wastelands of Dukji under our Kingdom. And you know how important that is.”

”I do.” The Queen nodded. ”The Tribes sit too close to our land, and the Wastelands hold unique resources that could increase our financial and military strength; not to mention the interesting Origin Pools their tribes carry. We cannot afford to lose them.”

She paused, then smiled without humour, her all-black eyes chilling to look at.

”Neither can we afford to use brute strength the way we usually do. The Kurppe Kingdom would use that opportunity to strike.”

”Aren’t they occupied with the Holy Empire of Nuur?”

”Not occupied enough.” Morenna shook her head. ”And you know their special love for us. Being the closest Kingdom to them, separated only by the Wastelands, we would be their first priority.”

”That, I can’t disagree with.” He said, then his voice turned dead cold. ”And as if that were not enough, the Stormblessed have put the Jurish Family in such a tight position that I have recently received a report stating the Alchemy Tower will be reducing the number of potions supplied to the army because, and I quote: we do not have sufficient personnel to meet demands. Humour me and tell me the actual reason for this.”

”The Jurish Family.” Morenna smiled, and the King nodded with his head made of flies. She continued. ”Not surprising, in truth. The Jurish Family has been alchemical since their first ancestor, a man who was among the co-founders of the Alchemy Tower. It’s no wonder this is happening in the wake of the recent incident.”

”Now the army guarding our borders will do so with limited supply.” The King said with open exasperation. ”The soldiers are already growing restless.”

”How are the commanders holding up?”

”Worse.” He spat. ”Every last one of them is a useless bastard trying to monopolise the resources. Do they think I’m unaware? Damned fools. When will the day come when I have under me a Commander actually worthy of being called a Commander, Morenna?”

”Like the one among the Old Conquerors?” She replied. ”The Undefeated Commander?”

”Like him.”

”It’s not entirely impossible.” She laughed softly. ”I have heard — and certainly you have too — that the Old Conquerors tend to be reborn within mortals from time to time. Who knows, maybe the Undefeated will return.”

”What are the odds?”

”Very low.”

”Then don’t bring it up.” The King grated. ”Instead, tell me who killed the Jurish bastard. And why my grandmother has taken that boy’s mother into the Church of Death? What does she intend to do with her?”

”The killer was meticulous, time and barrier Aspects were involved. We cannot divine their identity.”

”As expected. Anyone bold enough to kill a noble doesn’t do so without preparation.”

”Exact.” She nodded. ”And your grandmother...you know well that no one can guess her thoughts.” The Queen shook her head. ”But certainly, whatever she is planning will not be pleasant for me.”

She grinned. ”You know how much she hates me.”

”And you seem to rather enjoy it.”

”Oh, I do, husband. Very much even.” She laughed. ”It’s entertaining because we can’t kill each other, no matter how much we might want to.” Her black eyes went blacker. ”But we can certainly hurt each other.”

”Not now.” The King said with an authoritative tone. ”Now is not the time for your endless games. The matter of the Wastelands and the Alchemy Tower must be resolved.”

”Just accept their proposal.” Morenna shrugged.

The King snapped his head toward her. ”Accept their proposal?” He echoed. ”You want me to send children of Imbued Self rank — at most — into a Tier Four Fractured Land?”

”There is no other way.” Morenna said. ”The Tribes have been struggling with that Fractured Land for as long as anyone can remember. Doing this would make them grateful and accepting of our proposal.”

”No Imbued Self can clear a Tier Four. You know this. The real question is why that Tier 4 Fractured Land only allows Imbued rank and below.”

”But this generation has the ability.” Morenna retorted, looking at him with a quiet, knowing smile. ”This is our opportunity, Dantes. And I have an idea on how to prepare them for the task.”

Dantes Hood — Plague King of Hood, Herald of Vorn the Lord of Death — turned his head slowly toward his wife and mother, studying him with quizzical eyes.

”Enlighten me.”

”I didn’t want to resort to this, but I have my grandson and two of my children participating in this year’s Academy Test.” She chuckled. ”I want it to be worthy of them.”

”Get to the point.”

”We will reshape the Academy test into something fitting. Something that will forge them into children capable of taking on a Tier Four Fractured Land.”

”And how exactly would you manage such a feat?” He asked, with a thin hint of sarcasm.

”You will know in time. But before that,” She chuckled, apparently finding it genuinely amusing. ”Your sister has sent me a rather interesting message.”

”Which one?” His tone hardened. ”The one I intend to kill someday, or the one who never stops bringing trouble down on me with her foolishness?”

”The second, I believe.”

”Sefira?”

”Aye, husband.”

”What does she want?” He grated. ”If it’s another request for protection, I refuse.”

”Oh my, nothing like that. She simply wanted me to know that her youngest will be arriving one week early, before the event.”

”Cassius?” Dantes asked.

”Aye.”

”Is he as troublesome as the twins?”

”No.”

”As degenerate and inconsiderate as Dorian?”

”Oh my, not at all.”

”As arrogant as Morgan?”

”Ah, don’t speak like that about my first grandchild.” She said, then, ”And no.”

”Then what is the Last Born of the Desdemona like?”

Morenna Hood smiled widely, her all-black eyes curving at once sinisterly and fondly.

”Cute?”

—End of Chapter 77—