Warning: Gore

Nicholas

Hovering spheres of fuchsia light drifted through the heavy canopy of the tent. Nicholas brooded at a desk constructed of tree roots. Papers lay scattered, letters from his father lecturing him on taking drastic measures they never agreed upon. Didn’t matter what he did though, Laurent always had complaints, so he never strived to fully listen. He always tiptoed the line of a good beating. Besides, those papers couldn’t hold his attention when battling against Fearworn’s book of monsters.

Nicholas began the translations the previous morning and had barely made it forty pages in. Fearworn’s notes consisted of mad ramblings at first, as most lost Shades do. But his focus returned when he finally succeeded in opening a new Scar within the Deadlands, though they weren’t called that at the time. Nicholas couldn’t recall the name nor did he care. He sought how Fearworn created new monsters, but then Arden entered.

“I have them,” he said while revealing a stack of flimsy papers.

Nicholas snatched them from Arden’s grasp even as the fae summarized, “William Augustus Vandervult is the youngest son of Lord Robert Vandervult and Lady Matilda Vandervult. He has three older brothers and was recruited at the age of sixteen, thus serving in the war for five years. He was born and raised in the Heign Kingdom, attending military training at their recruitment camp for a year where Marsha Montgomery, the current Head Medical Officer of the second battalion, surmised he had a brilliance for medicinal magic, such as herbology and potion making.”

“And potentially for good reason, he was in the infirmary more often than not. A seemingly sick and weak child needed a way to heal himself lest he fall in the war to a tiny infection.” Nicholas sat the pages on his desk.

“I believe there is more to it than that,” Arden countered. “I conversed with a few simpleminded humans having served alongside him. William is known for standing up for himself and others, sometimes in what they described as violent manners. He has been reprimanded on occasion.”

“He started fights?”

“I believe his past combined with his lack of hesitation in shooting you speaks volumes.”

Nicholas’ sharp nail dug into William’s portrait, scratching out the eyes, then tearing off the picture entirely. He passed Arden a wild grin. “Let us test how brilliant or violent of a mage he supposedly is.”

“What of the Collision Treaty?” Arden asked. “The consequences of breaking it are severe.”

“We won’t push too far. I merely wish to play a game.”

They shared a knowing stare. Arden had already turned for the exit when he ordered, “Find me something good to play with.”

“I will be sure to impress.” Arden hurried out of the tent.

Nicholas fell back in his chair of thorns, picking them off one by one to pinch between his fingers. The blades drew blood that he wiped away with a flick of his finger. The cut healed as swiftly as they came. The dull prick of pain kept him occupied, otherwise he may break that cursed treaty.

After decades of Fearworn and his Shadowed Disciples not being taken seriously, they attacked Darkmoon and the capital of Krenia. All learned these were points where the distance between realms were thin. Fearworn sought to tear through them. The Shadowed Disciples dealt a devastating blow. Thousands of mortals died and hundreds of fae, but Fearworn didn’t succeed. That was the moment fae lords and mortal kings met and agreed to fight together. They devised the Collision Treaty between fae and mortals, ensuring one race did not kill the other. Though mortals have always been dimwitted. There were dozens of loopholes in the treaty, not that any king cared.

So when Arden returned a day later to confess that soldiers were given a pint of wine as part of their daily rations, Nicholas sought to cause trouble. The mortal soldiers guarding the stash wouldn’t deny him a thing. They stepped aside when he approached the rations. He grabbed a random bottle and slipped two crushed amaryllis plants within. A poisonous flower that caused vomiting, diarrhea, and tremors, though not fatal.

“Do you know of the medic William Vandervult?” Nicholas asked the guards.

One nodded and took the pint, aware of what had to be done less he risked loss of limb or a firstborn child. Nicholas returned to his tent to continue his translations. He progressed slowly from the complicated translations accompanied by the excitement of that evening. When Arden retrieved him later, he slid the book beneath his waistcoat and leapt.

William toiled among the medical tent attending to soldiers with aching limbs or running fevers. His pint of wine sat on a crate used as a makeshift table. Nicholas and Arden shielded themselves behind crates so as to not be perceived by their target. Then William sauntered over to the table. Nicholas flexed his fingers, his anticipation growing when William grabbed the pint. But he didn’t drink. The combat medic set both hands on the mug and whispered an incantation, then stalked out of the tent right over to them and downed the drink in front of Nicholas’ vexed face.

Smacking his lips, William said, “Amaryllis. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Nicholas stifled the urge to grind his teeth, then forced an amicable smile. “I wanted to determine what you were capable of. I ensured you wouldn’t taste or smell anything peculiar, so you’re quite young to be such an adept healer.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“Cocky, too.”

“Says the little fae lord playing games rather than working. Didn’t you get your grubby hands on some important tome? That should have far more of your attention than a mere combat medic who spoke truthfully to you. Probably for the first time in your life. Must be why you’re so sensitive about it.”

William grunted when Nicholas’ nails formed a sharp blade to press against his neck. Arden barked a reminder of the treaty that Nicholas craved to burn if it meant carving the skin from William’s bones.

“You continue to bare your teeth at me. One day, I shall pluck them from your mouth one by one,” he said.

“One day? Why not cut my neck here? You so clearly want to.” William smirked.

“Stop testing me. You don’t have a gun this time.”

“Don’t I?” William grinned. Nicholas’ eyes swept over him in search of a weapon. The only visible tool was the typical knife all army members wore.

“You have your oaths,” William continued. “As mad as the fae are, the one thing they will not break is an oath. Especially a magical one.”

William was not wrong. Fae made their deals and stuck to them. They simply found ways around and Nicholas yearned to bring about William’s early demise in some fashion. In Faerie, one did not speak ill of another without the thrill of knowing they may snap back in a far more violent manner. It was part of the game they all played, waiting for a moment to strike, to rip and tear and break. But he couldn’t break William, not in the way he wanted, and that infuriated him.

“This has gone too far,” someone said, a face that had Nicholas squinting. Ah, right, the one who interrupted them the other day. Nicholas released William, then the stranger settled between them. She stood taller than all of them, glaring down at Nicholas with her lips set into a thin line. “Continue this and I will inform the Generals. We are allies in this war. Start acting like it.”

“Lord Darkmoon would not be pleased to hear of any trouble,” Arden whispered even if his fingers twitched with the same yearning for chaos as Nicholas’.

William stood defiant beneath Nicholas’ glower. A defiance others rarely showed. When they did, Nicholas’ wrath followed them. Swift and agonizing. Neither of which he could do here. In a way, that excited him. Presented a challenge that made William interesting. Far more interesting than any other may have ever been. He might have smiled if a howling gale hadn’t swept over the encampment.

Nicholas smelled the creatures first, a stench of sulfur. Then two massive beasts gray skinned and yellow-eyed with leathered wings plummeted towards them. Their curved talons swooped in and mighty weight smashed nearby tents. William cursed when two nails caught his left shoulder. Nicholas would relish in the sound if his torso hadn’t been grabbed by the beast, too.  Through the chaos, he heard the second beast wreaking havoc. Narrowly saw the leather hide swatting at the soldiers becoming antsized in his vision. Two shadows battled the beast that inevitably grabbed them, too, then lurched skyward to follow. 

Wind hissed in Nicholas’ ears. Drums rang. The world became small and the camp disappeared, replaced by endless evergreens, then overcome by ashy clouds. Power surged within, blinding and white hot. Nicholas’ elongated nails, harsh as steel blades, sliced the beast’s leg clean off. The beast yowled. He fell, but not for long. The beast surged forward to catch him in its jaws. The serrated teeth crunched through his abdomen. Blood gushed. Bones cracked. The edge of his eyes watered. Pain shrieked across his senses, so strong he felt nothing then everything.

He jabbed the blade through the bastard’s eye. Another shrill scream and the beast thrashed about, throwing Nicholas from side to side. The teeth tore further through his flesh. Skin hung from his bones in thin threads. He pressed both hands to the monster’s cold muzzle. Fuchsia flames lit at his fingertips and overtook the beast. Among the blistering winds and pained screams, William’s angered curses echoed. Then they fell and rose and fell and rose. The beast tried to correct itself, but the flames kept burning and Nicholas started tearing. His nails ripped a chunk out of the beast's muzzle, two teeth and all. The monster’s wings gave out. They plummeted. The massive weight sent them hurtling through the clouds. The earth came at them fast.

Nicholas sunk his nails beneath the monster’s mouth and yanked. It's good eye opened, fierce gaze set upon him. He leapt, narrowly missing the snapping jaws. One wave of his hand and the ground lurched to meet him. The cold hands of earth grabbed his waist. A scream left his throat from broken twigs and thorns tearing further at his leaking wounds. The earth settled, sparing him of the fall, but the beast flew at him, manic and bloody. A dark figure dropped behind the beast, then those jaws came upon him.

Snapping, snarling, drooling and bloodied, the beast stumbled forward on three legs. Blood pooled beneath a long body not quite set right, as if the creature’s spine had twisted at the middle. The head cocked to the right and its wings were large, though slightly different sizes. That didn’t prevent it from being deadly. A tail rose over its head reminiscent of a spion. Acid spat forward. Nicholas waved upward. A wall of thorns burst forth. The power of the acid disintegrated the roots. An unexpected event. Nicholas wasn’t ready to dodge. The acid burned the skin from his right shoulder and chest, now a festering wound of oozing pus. Darkness overcame his vision. The pain so great he imagined falling asleep for a long nap to ease the suffering. But the guttural growl of a monster kept his eyes open.

Power danced over his fingertips, commanding all around him. Roots slithered from the ground to grasp the beast’s legs. Trees surged forward to pierce its abdomen with long branches. One thrash of its tail and kick of its legs shattered it all. In its moment of panic, Nicholas shot flames into its jaws. The beast reared back, screeching so loudly his ears bled. Snow shifted to form a cloud of blistering wind around him. He sent a blast of ice that tore the beast’s singed skin. Spears of snow pierced limb and abdomen, but the beast wouldn’t stop. It lunged at Nicholas, claws and teeth bared. He rolled out of its path. The ground shook when it hit. Trees toppled from its large body. Nicholas called for them. Trunks shattered into shards of bark, thousands of them all pointed at the beast. And in a single swing, they skewered the monster.

Nicholas lay there in the muddy snow resting a hand over his bloodied abdomen. The serrated teeth had torn him to shreds, revealing muscle and bone. Then a gunshot rang through the air. He jolted, wide eyes narrowly catching the beast’s stinger writhing about. A green substance oozed from a narrow wound along the head of the stinger that had been pointed at him. William appeared from the forest, revolver moving from the stinger to the beast’s head. He emptied the rest of the clip into its skull. It fell silent.

“You survived,” Nicholas chortled.

Blood flowed from an injury on William’s shoulder, where the beast had grabbed him. Dirt and twigs got caught in his mussy hair. A dark bruise blossomed on his cheek and his uniform had been torn. Those eyes as cold as this forest turned to Nicholas, who had the sudden urge to fight. William held death in his eyes. He looked at his gun. Nicholas’ gut told him the medic had one bullet left. William’s finger twitched on the trigger. 

“Nicholas!” Arden’s voice spared him from whatever the afterlife may have had planned. Dashing out of the forest, Arden slid to Nicholas’ side. Dirt and bruises covered his form. Behind him, William’s friend followed, limping on a bloodied leg.

Every breath Nicholas took caught fire in his lungs. That fire roared, nothing like Power that gave him a twisted form of comfort. This bit and gnawed on every nerve, a dog with a bone it wouldn’t release. Colors blurred together. His consciousness bled out into the red snow. Even his natural healing couldn’t spare him. His body battled against the acid, narrowly preventing the substance from eating clean through his bones.

“We can’t move with you like this.” Arden turned his attention to William. “Medic! Be of use and help Nicholas.”

“Why should I?” William knelt in front of his friend to inspect her leg. At least Nicholas thought so. His vision grew darker by the moment.

“That pointy-eared bastard burned that creature and almost myself in the process. Then he jumps on his own, leaving me to die, and you,” William hesitated, and probably glared at Arden. “Did you leave Albie to die, too?”

Arden didn’t respond. Neither did Charmaine.

“See?” He scoffed. “I find it only fitting that we do the same. If he dies, he dies.”

“William,” Charmaine huffed. “We were brutally attacked. We’re alone in unknown territory with no rations and another of these beasts trying to kill us. Four heads against that is better than two, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Listen to your friend. He speaks sense,” said Arden.

“Keep those vile lips of yours sealed,” William spat. “The more you speak the less inclined I am to listen.”

Charmaine and William proceeded to whisper harshly to one another.

Nicholas blinked, trying to focus. The world became a haze. Then a dark shadow loomed over him with eyes of dreamy green. The last thing he remembered was pain like he had never felt, a vexed medic barking orders, then silence.