Shadow Slave

As the Dread Warriors rushed forward like a river of hungry steel, Effie felt the ground tremble. She was still kneeling in the mud with her head lowered, an indescribable bitterness squeezing her heart. A moment later, someone’s hand grabbed her by the hair and violently jerked her head upward. In terms of physical might, Effie was stronger than a dozen Saints... but all her strength suddenly felt meaningless under the weight of the iron hand that was pulling her upward.

Grabbed by Azarax, all she could do was grit her teeth and suppress a pained groan.

Suddenly, he was very close.

“You are facing the wrong way, priestess. Come, let us watch your city fall.”

He threw her down as two soldiers grabbed her hands, binding them with enchanted shackles. A complicated weave of runes ignited on their steel surface, and she felt her essence draining quickly — soon enough, it would be completely exhausted, leaving her weak and vulnerable.

Too easy to kill.

Only...

Effie knew that Azarax was not going to kill her. Not today, at least.

As more soldiers arrived, carrying a fur-covered seat for their Sovereign, the King of Kings sat down and leaned back with an easy smile. Effie, who was sprawled in the mud at his feet, slowly picked herself up. She looked away, in the direction of the battered city.

The Dread Warriors and other elite legions of the Steel Horde were already halfway to its gates. The ordinary soldiers stayed back, though.

“Tell me, priestess, now that you betrayed your god, what should I call you? Then again, perhaps I’ll ordain you as the priestess... of me. Should I establish a temple of my own?”

Azarax was grinning, but his eyes remained cold, peering at her with a dark, murderous hunger.

Effie looked down, avoiding his gaze.

‘Betrayed War God, huh?’

War Maidens gave an oath to never surrender without a fight. If Effie were truly one of them, she would have been breaking the covenant with War God by lowering herself in front of Azarax.

And that was precisely the reason why Azarax was not going to kill her just yet. Because he saw the act of breaking her as proof of being greater than the gods.

Far away, the Dread Warriors were nearing the open city gate.

Everything was...

Everything was going according to plan. Effie sighed quietly and raised a hand, trying to wipe the grime off her face.

“Breaking things is far easier than building them, King Azarax. Building a temple would be no different.”

She had not spent these two years idly. Effie had fought myriad battles against the Steel Horde, true, but she was also learning her enemy patiently. The structure of Azarax’s army, the customs of his people, the history of how his father had come to power, and how Azarax killed him to claim the throne.

And not only the Steel Horde. She had learned about other realms and other Domains of this ancient time, as well.

Most of all, however, she learned about Azarax.

What motivated him, what moved him. What his virtues were, and what his vices were as well.

And at the end of it all, she had to admit that Azarax... was not that complicated at all.

He was a genius warrior, yes. His Aspect was frighteningly powerful. He was a tyrant with a natural talent for leadership, as well — he was not the kind of enlightened and benevolent leader that people of her time usually imagined when thinking about an ideal ruler, but rather a king fit for his time. Someone who could crush people with his authority and keep them in line with an unshakeable fist until the very thought of defiance and disobedience was eradicated from their minds.

And he was quite charismatic, too.

But beneath it all, his character was a collection of vile and banal cliches, only unique because Azarax took them to an absolute, inhuman extreme.

Azarax was absolutely prideful, egomaniacal, conceited, and sadistic — but most of all, he was entirely overcome by insatiable lust for power. All of his other traits stemmed from this one overwhelming obsession, and everything he did only pursued two goals. It was all either to gain more power or affirm the power he already possessed, lest it weaken and disappear. His cruelty, his greed, his ruthless tyranny — it was all a means of obtaining power. So was his narcissistic self-assurance, since in the world Azarax inhabited, no one could be above him, and no one had a greater claim to power than he.

Naturally, that belief clashed with the existence of the gods, who were above all, above everyone. No matter how deftly Azarax refused to admit, even to himself, that there were those out there greater than him, he was not unaware of reality. The gods were like a thorn in his side.

Of course, he was not entirely unfounded in his confidence, even if it bordered on insanity. After all, Azarax had been Transcendent before becoming Supreme, and before that, he was Ascended, Awakened... Dormant. The path he walked was littered with the corpses of those who had been more powerful than him, and yet ended up dying by his hand.

Those who had survived, meanwhile, had all become his thralls.

Why would the gods be any different?

That was why Azarax was fixated on Effie. She was a conduit for his hatred of the gods, a way of diminishing them that was in his power to conquer.

And that was how she had known that he would not kill her immediately.

There were only two possible outcomes to her surrender. One was that Azarax would viciously beat her until she was on the threshold of death, and then make her his thrall. The other was that she would keep her free of the enthrallment, resorting to mental torture instead — to break her and make her surrender to him fully of her own free will.

Both outcomes were acceptable to Effie, since that was what she had planned for. Unless something completely unexpected happened, there was no way for her to lose... at this stage, at least.

She just had to redefine what losing meant. This was the first component of the plan. The second one had come from diligent study of this era, as well.

It had to do with what victory meant for the triumphant army.