Private A ruinous find

[Tathra Khaeus]

- Draed Muinne

Once Sethrak had been returned to the fold, the Tachael-Vemnak had begun their search for the truth. Rumours had begun to circulate regarding the nature of the Last Warlord's survival. Rumours of course were the currency of the Draelvasier's notorious secret police, so as soon as even a whisper reached them, it was brought to the Titan. Sethrak was summoned, and now he was to be brought before him.

Tathra wondered if Sethrak was perhaps the most summoned Drael that ever lived. His insubordination nearly matched Hrajlmak, but Sethrak had had time to catch up since the Shamans passing. Hrajlmak had been openly disobedient, Sethrak preferred the shadows. To drag him out into the light, into the fire. He always made an affair of it. However, this time would be different.

Sethrak may have knelt last time they were at Muinne. But every once in a while, he needed reminding which master he served.

The Seer Kalanthir stood opposite the throne Tathra slumped in, clawed hands connected. Tathra could sense the questions coming, always questions. But that was why a Seer exists, to question the decisions of a Chieftain. He shouldn't begrudge Kalanthir for his existence.

"Are you sure this is wise, sire?"

"One can never be sure until the task is done." And that would be the end of that debate.

Sethrak would arrive to find an empty throne room.

A lure.

An arena.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

The return of Tathra Khaeus had been a plot full of surprises. The shock of his return itself was only the tip of the iceburg. The Titan had returned seemingly with a new vision, a new ideology, one that had nearly cost Sethrak his life during the height of The Bryn'adul crusade. Be it a fruit of circumstance, a lesson of the past, or something else entirely, Tathra Khaeus was no longer the purist he had been before the fall. Much like Sethrak, The Chieftain had recently taken a much looser stance on Draelvasier supremacy. As a result, many of The Allied Races that Sethrak had defended for years now flocked to back into The Bryn'adul ranks. Furthermore, the addition of The Neti had further reinforced the dwindling Draelvasier forces. The final addition, of course, was Sethrak's own Risen troops. Legions of felled Drael'vasier, rescued from The Nether, where they had been endlessly tormented, much like Sethrak himself had been before Gordrak liberated him from that dreadful place. However, unlike Sethrak, many of these risen forces were showing signs of decay. They were slower, unmotivated, and their life forces were often fickle.

The Warlock did not fully understand this sudden change in demeanor, as his connection to The Nether and theirs was an enigma of sorts. Sethrak had spent days at a time walking The Nether to attempt to understand this connection. So many mysteries, it was an endless foray into the unknown. And that was where he had been when he received the summon from Tathra Khaeus. It was rare for communications to pass into The Nether, depending strongly on The Warlock's location. This time, Sethrak had been in a sort of mirror world...a place torn between existing within The Nether, and The Overworld. Sethrak could enter this realm with relative ease. Once there, his surroundings would become distorted and disformed in a way. It was impossible to see objects in the distance: They were blurred too severely in a sort of haze reminiscent of heat rising from a concrete surface. Even closer objects could be disorienting. However, it became clear to Sethrak that whilst within this place, he became nearly completely transparent to those outside of The Nether, like a ghost. That was the extent of his knowledge of this plane thus far, until further incursions could be made. There was so much to learn.

But alas, this one would be cut short by his Chieftain's call. Sethrak immediately returned himself to the world of the living, and made his way to the point he had been summoned. However, upon entering, he found an empty room. Within it, a vacant throne, presumably where The Titan had been when the summon was sent. Perhaps Tathra had been called away for something. Sethrak knew well the duties of a Chieftain. It was a duty accompanied by great responsibility, an endless stream of reports, requests, concerns...enough to drive an ordinary Drael insane. Sethrak chose patience, taking a few echoing steps toward the throne before finally halting before it, and turning to face the door. Tathra would surely return shortly.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Sethrak now stood before the throne. A throne he had once given up to the very Drael he now waited for, waiting for his creator - the Titan, Khaeus. All these titles, all this expectation over a name. A legacy that had long since outgrown him. But Sethrak, today, would know what lay behind the title of Chieftain. Sethrak had lied to him, to his face.

This was housekeeping. Personal.

Before Sethrak could react, a silent shadow lurched over him. Tathra Khaeus, moving without the inkling of existence. Not a heartbeat, nor the unsheathing of a blade. Only a breath before the first strike.

The brunt of his gauntlet struck the side of Sethrak's skull, a sharp crack followed as the smaller Drael staggered. Tathra's boot found his back, bending the armour into his scapulae, pinning him. A meaty red paw reached down, tearing the sceptre from the Warlords back, hurdling the weapon across the throne room. Its gold frame crashed into a pillar opposite the door with a heavy metal clang. Tathra raised the boot from Sethraks back, bringing it down into his ribs, shattering them as he turned over.

The Titan huffed, a thousand pound weight of muscle growling with vicious intent. His mandibles parted as a guttural roar escaped the gaping maw, a roar of furious rage. A roar that held the hurt of Galak's betrayal. Tathra wailed down on him with two humongous paws, slamming down into the Warlords chest. The fists strike the metal like drums of war, echoing through the empty Throne Room. Once together, a second time, each fist separately. His chest rose and heaved like an avalanche. Finally his assault relented, his paw clenching Sethrak by the throat.

Still alive.

No other being in the Universe could survive such an assault. But still some unknown force pushed breath through Sethraks lungs.

"What have you done?" He spoke through a snarl.

Another traitor. Another liar.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

It was a rarity for Sethrak to be taken off-guard, ever. It was even more seldom that he could be ambushed within allied territory, by a Drael. How a multi-ton behemoth had successfully pulled off this trickery was unknown to Sethrak. But it was hardly on his mind now, as his senses were overcome by The Titan's assault. Blow after blow landed on the now-disarmed, and completely bewildered Warlock. With each blow, he could feel his bones crack, and his organs nearly turning to mush. The very blood within his veins ceased its' movement, and instead felt as though they would pop following the pressure of each blow. The pain was nearly unbearable. No matter what sort of nether energy flowed through him, pain was still a very real inconvenience. But he could not scream, for The Titan had a grasp on his throat. So this was the reward for loyalty? But alas, there was nothing he could do.

At last, the brutal barrage of fist and foot ended, following a scream that seemed to come from Tathra's very soul. Then, a question was demanded of Sethrak, "What have you done?"

The Warlock did not know what his chieftain spoke of. Had he not sworn loyalty? Had he not answered the summon? No, he knew not what his chieftain demanded, and in his current state of mind, he could not formulate the thoughts to decipher it. But it was clear that if he did not say something, Tathra's rage would not subside. So, through raspy breaths, The Warlock responded, "What was necessary."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

There was confusion in Sethraks eyes, he too felt betrayed. Tathra's grasp softened slightly, a blink of remorse visible in the slight shifts of his carapace cheekbones. Draelvasier were hard to read for any species bar their own. But when Sethrak solidified upon his response, so did Tathra. His heavy brow furrowed, muscles beneath the carapace forcing his golden eyes to squint ever so slightly - purely in disbelief of such a selfish answer.

Sethrak had sacrificed what he was to live. Perhaps to live for their species, the Titan could only hope that was some small part of it. But both knew Sethraks ambition matched the Titans, his sense of self was strong and glory burned like a vortex of fire within the Warlord. An aspect of his attributes that Tathra had always had a respect for. All Draelvasier had a drive to fight, to survive against all odds.

But, this was beyond reason.

Tathra straddled the line of impulse, muscle twitching to pummel further, but his mind forced the clenching paw to release Sethrak's throat. It was a churlish emotion that forced his grasp to remain so long. But finally, he relinquished his assault, sighing heavily from between pursed rattling mandibles. The Titan withdrew to the steps of the Throne. There Sethrak lay, in a pool of his own black blood, broken. But still alive. He reclined, chest heaving still. But Tathra did not recognise it as Drael blood. It was muddled, ashen.

Corrupt.

With a clenched fist, Sethraks curdled liquids pooled back into the cracks of his carapace. His will refuted the wounds. Tathra's eyes were now wide, studying the phenomenon and his expression was disgusted awe.

"You are a rotten, cancer-rife thing." Tathra spat his words at Sethrak.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Everything hurt, but already Sethrak's wounds were beginning to mend. It was enough for him to sit up, though he grimaced following the spark of pain this simple maneuver inflicted. The Warlock still did not understand what had prompted this assault, but if given the time and the opportunity, there would be retaliation. After everything he had sacrificed, his own life technically included, this was the reaction of the chieftain? It was a betrayal that stung deep, but like all things that sting, the effect was only an increase of Sethrak's resolve. He had not come this far just to be thrown around like a runt. Adding insult to injury, Tathra had harshly labeled Sethrak "a rotten, cancer-rife thing."

In response, the breathless, beaten warlock only grimaced at Tathra. He could hardly attempt speak just yet as his throat had been all but crushed by the confrontation. But soon it would heal, along with everything else. Not completely, of course. If his armor were ever removed, one would find countless scars from wounds inflicted in battles. Whatever strange healing he had been gifted, it was never enough to fully heal his body. Only enough to sustain him, so he could still pursue his goals.

After a few long moments, he finally growled a response to Tathra, "You fool no one. You would have done the same, had our duties been reversed."

Of that, The Warlock was certain. If it had been Tathra Khaeus in that tower, in a pool of his own blood, face to face with Hrajlmak, and surrounded by the wails of his fallen comrades, he would have made the same decision. If presented with two choices, persevering, living in a hibernation state in that horrible place for years, or simply dying, then Tathra would certainly choose to live. The opportunity to fight on, to revive what once was, and extract vengeance on those that brought it to the ground...Tathra Khaeus would not turn down such a gift. Even if it was...unnatural.

Sethrak again repositioned himself, slowly rising from a sitting position, to taking a knee. Soon he would be able to rise fully, and teach Tathra to respect his sacrifices.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

His upper torso rose, shoulders tensing as the bestial impulse to lurch forth with blade in hand. He tethered that impulse to the indent Scourge's blunt tip had made in the ground. A tightly bound paw twisting the hilt, grinding into the marble floor. But as his chest rose, making him seem larger than he was, it fell immediately, shaking his head.

Everything that he was stood in opposition to that suggestion. His eyes trailed down the storied scars that covered the armour and carapace of both Drael. His free paw, in his palm a scar left by Grosck nearly a century ago now. Sethrak, a scar below the eye during the battle Hrajlmak fell in. The ability to survive on their own merit. Nothing more than flesh and faith.

"You made a pact with death. We are not the same."

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Sethrak was recovered now. Recovered enough, at least, that the Titan's words were met with a swift reaction. Of course, Tathra had thrown Sethrak's scepter to the wall opposite of the door, which meant he would be moving away from Tathra if he moved toward the scepter. Here he had to make a decision: Snatch his scepter now and lose the potential half second of surprise against Tathra, or go directly at The Titan and attempt to fight him in hand-to-axe combat.

Sethrak chose the latter. The Warlock leapt from his kneeling position, pushing himself upright and into the air just enough to land with a roll directed at his Tathra. Ending his roll with a full sprint, he closed the final few steps to meet The Titan, and thrust a knee toward his abdomen. If successful, he would follow up with a knee toward The Titan's head, hopefully stunning him enough to continue the onslaught.

As he carried out his attack, he focused on the disrespect, the betrayal of Tathra's words. The lie that Sethrak was somehow lesser than Tathra for making a decision that he would no doubt have made himself. These delusions, this false sense of superiority, this farce would end at the conclusion of this spar. Sethrak knew not if he would kill Tathra in the end, or simply humiliate him, but he would have his retribution.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tathra huffed, hefting the Scourge before slamming it down - cramming the edge of the blade into the marble, sinking half a dozen inches. Sethrak had speed, speed like a Drael who hadn't just had his ribcage shattered like glass on cement. When Tathra struck him, brutally - but stragetic; he felt the armour and flesh meldge. The bones crumble, and still Sethrak pounced like a verile Rhivak.

The recovery was beyond anything even their most toxic mutagens could produce.

Impressive.

Vile.

Tathra bent low, punching away Sethraks knee and edging closer to Sethrak. Sethrak had been a capable Warlord, fielded armies with success. But his eagerness to close the distance, was a mistake. Tathra had crippled Drael thrice Sethraks side.

Though, the undead Warlord could not be crippled. Tathra drove his elbow into Sethraks nose, ash-gulp drenching his cheeks as Tathra swiped across with a back-hand that would take the jaw from the undead swines shoulders.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Tathra had deflected Sethrak's knee away. Of course he did, this was Tathra Khaeus, not just a standard Drael warlord. He would not be taken by surprise as Sethrak had been earlier. No, Khaeus was far too experienced for that. With his initial attack spoiled, Sethrak now found himself in a difficult situation. A situation he could not escape unscathed, as Tathra's elbow connected directly with The Warlock's nose. Naturally, it shattered, and The Warlock recoiled, stunned from the contact. Tathra wouldn't let up, he now had the initiative. Sethrak attempted to back away in order to regain his composure, but already a backhand was flying toward his face. The dazed Warlord attempted to dodge back, but his speed failed him. The hand struck him just above the jaw, the force of it nearly snapping his neck, threw him to the ground.

No amount of unnatural healing could allow Sethrak to recover in time. Not against Khaeus. The Warlock was beaten. He coughed, sputtering out some blood. Desperate for something to help buy time, he looked to his weapon, but it was too far. No doubt Tathra was already hovering over him now. It was time for a different tactic: A ruse.

Sethrak would feint his weakness. He first tried to push himself up, but deliberately collapsed again. Then he rolled over to face Tathra, and laid flat on his back, breathing heavily. If Tathra believed him to be as weakened as he appeared, then perhaps The Warlock would be able to dodge a potential final strike or execution. Or, perhaps The Titan would have mercy. Regardless, Sethrak's goal now was to feint weakness, and live to fight another day. He hoped his ruse would be successful.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

The Titan sighed with Sethrak repelled so easily. Tearing Scourge from the floor with a single yank of the wrist. Thundering steps followed the clattering fall, a heavy shadow shaking the earth as Scourge - all but a head equal in length to Sethrak, came to rest on the abdomen of the Warlord as he lay belly up. Golden eyes loomed over Sethrak, exposed like prey.

Sethrak had once been a dyke for the Bryn'adul, like Osam and Galak. To see him fall so easily, was disappointing. Perhaps he had not been the teacher he believed himself to be. The Titan growled through his mandibles, raising Scourge into a two-handed grasp.

"The years have made you weak."

Tathra swung to bisect, sparks exploding from the marble as Scourge cut across the ground to connect with Sethraks abdomen.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Needless to say, the ruse failed, as The Titan raised his weapon and swung toward the defenseless Warlord's abdomen. Sethrak didn't know if he would be able to heal to that extent. There was no reason to believe he could not, but it was not a risk he was willing to take. He still had a purpose in this life, and he would not be put down like an old, wounded mutt. While he was hoping for more time to recover from the backhand that knocked him down moments ago, his time was up. Sethrak lifted his legs up high and fast, using the momentum to help roll himself backwards, and land on his hands and knees.

Tathra's strike narrowly missed, sending sparks and bits of loosened rubble flying. Sethrak pushed himself to his feet and took a defensive stance, keeping his distance from Tathra. He now regretted not going for his weapon, as Tathra now had a massive advantage, wielding a weapon nearly as tall as Sethrak himself. Closing the distance would be nearly impossible. Perhaps, if Tathra were a human, the delay between his attacks would be enough reprieve for Sethrak to move in close. But Tathra was strong enough to attack with speed, even with a weapon of such mass.

Sethrak considered his options. Mercy was clearly not on The Titan's mind, which meant defeat was not an option. It would also be impossible to try to feint weakness again. Of all his years, this was perhaps the most difficult situation The Warlock had found himself in. He could think of nothing. A sprint for his weapon would be nearly impossible; Tathra was slower than him, but not by much, and with a weapon with so much reach, Sethrak would be unlikely to pull it off. Standing his ground would be an equally unreasonable task, without a weapon of his own. The Warlock could only hope to...negotiate.

"You call me weak, when it is I that sustained wounds that would kill any other Drael. You call me weak, yet it was not under my rule that The Bryn'adul collapsed. If I am so weak, then why did you feel the need to ambush? It is not I who betrayed his loyal warlord. Drop your weapon, Titan, and then we will see who is weak. No games, no tricks."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Sethrak spoke true.

A little.

He did stand to the test. Withstood blows that would bring most humanoid things in the Galaxy to a mortal coil. But that was not because the Drael had skill, nor strength. But because of a bargain, because of a lie. To be at risk was to live and place one's life on the blade's edge. Sethrak did not, could not - do that. The Titan stood before a Drael, eyes trained on his flesh. But the 'last' warlord was only a fool. Stone for meat like the lifeless gargoyles that stalked their halls. Skin and blood cold like the marble palisades that dotted the alcoves.

Sethrak was like one of the swords or axes hanging from the half-empty armour stands. A tool forgotten by time, the world had left Sethrak behind. Though Tathra was no fool, in that way they were the same. Not the nonsense spouted by the youth, but the Titan could recognize the equal displacement. Not unlike their new Myka or Neti allies. The Titan's eyes flickered, shifting from one form of sight to another. But it was all the same cold flesh.

Tathra's mandibles clattered, amused. Both knew he was no match in speed, strength, or martial skill. Sethrak had nothing more than prattle in the end. Goading was pitiful.

His eyes shifted to the spear and back to Sethrak.

"Immortal? We'll see."

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

The Last Warlord, and The Titan, stood facing each other, alone in the vast throne room of Draed Muinne. While still locked in combat, it was as if time had stood still, just for the moment. The heavy breathing of the two combatants, the only thing breaking the silence following Sethrak's challenge. To Sethrak, it felt as if every fallen Drael brother was watching him. He could feel their eyes burning through his skin. Did they cheer for him? Did they, the fallen, appreciate everything he had sacrificed for their people? Or did they despise him just as Tathra now did, and view him as nothing but an abomination? Sethrak knew not. But he would fight on until the day he could no longer. Perhaps that time would be now...

"Immortal? We'll see."​

Another attempt to even the odds, to survive, had failed. Tathra would not accept the challenge. Sethrak had no options left. He was cornered, facing certain death. But it was not his first time, and Khaeus didn't seem to know that a cornered opponent with nothing to lose was the most dangerous kind of foe. Sethrak had learned this the hard way during his short time as Chieftain, ironically facing a rogue warlord. Now Tathra too would learn this lesson the hard way. The Warlock still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

"Yes. We will." ​

Sethrak entered The Nether Realm, which would make him nearly invisible to Tathra. Then the warlock raised an arm toward his scepter. The scepter, imbued with The Force, came flying to his hand at lightning speed. The moment it hit his hand, Sethrak leapt toward The Titan. Tathra may yet have time to respond, but The Warlock cared not. If this was to be his end, it would come now. If Tathra were to run him through with his weapon, then so be it. He would not be stopped.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Back any wild beast into a corner, and eventually its eyes will fall on your throat.

Tathra watched intently, his posture shifted in accordance with the Warlords. Sethrak felt threatened, and with no other choice his body commanded him closer to the sceptre, palms open, legs arched. Tathra would not stop him from collecting it.

This was his goal, after all - to drive Sethrak back, again and again until he had no option but to fight for his life.

Sethrak drew power to himself, folding the force. Made it malleable in his grasp and matter itself fell under his mere whims as the Warlord eluded all senses, nothing but a whisp, a shimmer of his mass present in the dark corners of the Throne Room of Draed Muinne.

No longer could Tathra observe to anticipate and counter, he had to react in the moment. His stance shifted, defensive, eliminating as many blind or vulnerable spots as possible. Sethrak charged as a one-drael cavalry, even in his hidden form his boldness made his approach obvious. The closer the glimmer of his partial form came, the louder the singing of his sceptre, the quickening breath of a warrior ready to kill.

Tathra side-stepped, pirouetting into a cleaving strike to remove the charging Draels head. Sethrak responded in kind, dropping onto his knee and sliding behind Scourge's edge - bashing the blade further along its trajectory with the base of the sceptre. The Drael turned on his knee, kicking up marble and dust as the sceptre exploded with light - a pearlescent beam of force energy exploding from its hilt and striking the Titan in the stomach, the palisade at his back crumbling on impact.

Yes. This was it. Not writhing on the floor, nor wildly striking against an immovable object. But to become unstoppable. Tathra wished to push Sethrak to his upper limit.

Sethrak revealed himself, pleased to have landed a blow. Tathra's visage revealed nothing, tearing himself from the wall and closing the distance before the Warlord could even reach his feet. Sethrak fired again as he rose, retreating. It was a shorter, less powerful blow that was easily avoided - but it did place the Titan's swing lower. Sethrak blocked with the shaft of the sceptre, using its flat surface to manipulate the bind, thrusting the base at the Titans knee. Tathra released one paw free from Scourge, grappling the base of the sceptre and, averting the blow to his knee.

Both Drael exchanged a second long glace, trepidation on the face of the Warlord. Again, nothing to find in the stone that was Tathra. The Titan balked, growling as he yanked Sethrak into his knee. Raising Scourge in his other hand to drive it downward into Sethraks back. The Warlord cried out, forcing every muscle in his body to fight back, grasping the Sceptre in both hands from his knelt position and throwing it behind his head, pushing Scourge away and crashing into the marble.

Sethrak released the sceptre, rising with punches to Tathra's abdomen. Pulling a dagger from his belt and thrusting it for the thigh. Sethrak may have been the lesser warrior, may have been fighting the very being that made him what he was. Taught him everything that made him a warrior, a Draelvasier. But the golden hateful scouring gaze of the Titan did not matter, instead - Sethrak was driven by something else. A hundred-thousand Drael paws at his back, real or imaginary they guided his blade.

The Dagger found its mark, digging greedily into the meat of the Titan's waist and thigh. But every success would come at a cost for Sethrak, his overly-scarred body had taught him that much. Tathra wrapped his own, larger arm around Sethraks thrusting arm, striking him over the head with his free paw repeatedly, crushing Sethrak with his other arm - gutturally roaring as he reigned his head back and with all of his body drove his crown into Sethrak's chest and neck.

The Warlord skirted back, falling and cracking the marble beneath him as he fell. Sethrak choked on his own blood as Tathra approached, calling Scourge to his grasp. Tathra raised Scourge in both paws, eyes widening for a moment before both arms plummeted, bringing the blade down atop the Warlord. Sethrak answered in kind, summoning the sceptre into both paws to meet the Titan's blade moments before it fell.

HHHOOOOFFF!

Sethrak physically shook, the floor at his back crumbling as a shockwave cracked the air between the two weapons. The Warlord had put his all into withstanding the blow and knew another would crush him like the marble. Sethrak yanked one arm back, pushing the sceptre's tip to the sky as the pearlescent blast hit the ceiling.

Debris fell, chunks of black stone crashing down as Titan and Warlord were forced to part.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Desperation and determination had met, and thrown The Warlock into a rage. The battle had been fast. Both Sethrak and the Titan had landed several blows. But in the end, it was Sethrak that was hurting the most, and it was Sethrak that had been on his back, seconds away from death. If not for his panicked blast and the ceiling collapsing as a result, The Warlock would likely be truly dead now.

Instead, he laid there, buried beneath several large bits of rubble, particularly on his legs. He couldn't escape this. He wondered where Tathra had ended up. The debris was likely not too severe of an issue for Tathra given his sheer mass and muscles, in fact, his body may have shielded Sethrak for a split second. But was he close and free enough to come finish the pinned warlock off? It didn't matter. If Tathra were to come finish the fight, then so be it. If he were to leave Sethrak here, buried in rubble, then it would still mean the likely end for The Warlock.

The last time Sethrak was buried in rubble and debris, he had been fighting a Jedi, in Kreeta City. This time, he was fighting one of his own kind, in his own territory. It was ironic. Was this what he had fought for? Surely his fate wasn't to die like this. He wouldn't let it be. He would defy fate.

He struggled,, pulling his left leg to no avail. Only pain. Then he tried his right. The same result, at first. But then it shifted. He took a short break, gathering his strength, and pulled again. This time, the rock shifted enough to free his foot. But his left was still trapped, and his shattered right needed to heal before he could do much more with it.

The Warlock used this time to sit up, and look around. No sign of Tathra, yet, but time was ticking. He leaned forward and pushed the rock, while pulling his left leg. It worked, the leg came out from under the rock with some force. The Warlock cried out, and fell back again following a sharp pain in his back. Tathra had landed a significant blow. Lethal for most. The pain was severe. Turning his head and spitting out some blood, The Warlock remained on his back. He needed to heal.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

When the rubble had settled, silence filled the throne room. Rubble shifted and gave way like sand to a wave as Tathra rose to his full height without effort. Rolling shoulders pushing the debris from his path, a minute nuisance. As strong as he was, as quick and fierce as he was, Tathra had no wish to be suffocated under marble or pinned long enough for Sethrak's sceptre to reach his throat. That instinct was something he had mastered over a century ago.

The Gladiator Pits.

One had to ignore the cries of flesh and mind and stay alive. Fear keeps you strong. Fear of pain or death can keep you alive. It keeps you fast. Sethrak had become numb to fear, it had made him sluggish. That was why now, even with his new healing factor; he was laid out, diminished. Had his stamina been this weak in days of war and conquest, Sethrak would have died so long ago.

A red paw sundered the rubble between them, the Warlord's spectre in his other paw.

Golden eyes fell fixed on Seth, and that visage of stone fell apart as Tathra looked down on the Warlord in ruin, spitting muddled black ooze where boiling Drael blood should have been. Sethrak was just another failure like Galak and Osam before him. The Titan's mandibles shook before the blow. A quick thrust left the lower half of the sceptre the only visible portion of the weapon. The two Drael locked eyes as the sceptre slipped between Sethrak's ribs and flesh, its tip scratching the marble at his back.

Tathra raised the Warlord on the end of the sceptre, bringing him into the light. He watched his body tense around the new injury, spewing more blood as other injuries fused Sethrak back together, clinging with clawed grasps at the haft of the sceptre.

Immortal.

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

Sethrak hadn't gotten up in time. He should have known better...Khaeus was relentless, brutish, and neigh unstoppable at times. Truly, he did know better, but he failed to force himself to fight the pain and get up. The Warlock paid the price for yet another failure, as The Titan came storming through rubble, immediately impaling Sethrak with his own weapon. It passed through completely, right through the chest. Then The Titan raised Sethrak with the scepter, staring into his eyes. Sethrak, in immense pain, was completely and totally defeated. There was nothing he could do. He wasn't even sure that he could speak, but he would try.

But first he would show that, while defeated, he would never fully stop fighting. He took a moment of heavy breathing, black blood filling his mouth, then spat the blood and salvia directly onto Tathra's face. He followed this final 'strike' by speaking, his voice rough and interrupted from time to time with more blood in his throat:

"After all I have done....all this time...this is how you treat me. You will fail again. Your kin will fall again. We will suffer."

It was all he could muster. The words weren't to beg, but to cut The Titan as deeply as he could mentally. He would not meet his end bleeding out, cowering, and begging like a dog. He was born to fight, and he would die using every last ounce of his being to strike his foe. His words were now his final weapon.

With this final blow complete, The Warlock closed his eyes, waiting for his execution.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

HAHAHAHA.

Voluminous and goading. A heavy cry of amusement as carapaced mandibles rattled, this was no palaver. No exchange, Sethrak was a fool if he believed his words mattered at all. He had given away that right, the right to speak, to think. He was no Draelvasier, in the place of an accomplished warrior-servant was a living-dead thing. A forlorn creature the Titan had never seen the likes of in a century and a half of living. Life ages would pass by and like an insect that perseveres through nuclear winter, so too would this skewered thing.

But all was not for nought. Sethrak only needed to be reminded what he was, and only on the edge of death can something blind see. A paw clenched his shoulder as the other paw took the sceptre from Sethrak's abdomen. He had already been dissected, broken. But even in that ultimate defeat, he chose to show defiance, to attack. So was there way.

There was hope for this one after all. Tathra threw aside the sceptre and put the Warlord down. The sceptre, it was discarded, clattering onto the marble behind them. But not Sethrak. Both were things in the Titans' mind, but he would be so much more than a thing.

This was a rebirth.

Tathra's massive paw clenched the nape of his neck, pulling Sethrak upright as he knelt beside him. After all he had done, all this time - Tathra Khaeus was not without mercy.

"Galak, Osam. So many traitors. But you, Sethrak. You can atone for this lie, this..." Tathra forced Sethrak to look him in the eye, his own blood flowing from the Titan's brow and down the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

"You may be as close to immortal as any being can be. But you are not beyond my reach, my fist. Understand this, understand and obey. You can still be of use to OUR kin. No more lies, Sethrak."

Sethrak ​

 

[Sethrak]

It was hard for him to comprehend what was happening. He was slipping in and out of consciousness. First, Khaeus compared Sethrak to Galak, and Osam. Sethrak would wear that as a badge of honor. Those were his brothers, his kin. He had gone into countless battles with them by his side. Tathra labeled them as traitors. But Sethrak could not defend their honor, not in his current state.

Khaeus took The Warlock's head in his hand, forcing him to look into his eyes. Sethrak didn't resist, instead meeting the stare. Perhaps, locked in this stare, Khaeus would see more than just the eyes of a Draelvasier. Perhaps he would see the eyes of a warrior. Or perhaps it would be as if he were staring into the fires of The Netherworld. But he would not see submission nor surrender.

The limp Warlock, defeated, mocked, and humiliated, was then given an offer. But he knew well that this was not an offer. It was a demand. He would either accept it, or he would meet his end. He knew not what the demand would be, but even in this moment of complete defeat, he saw an opportunity. As long as he lived, or rather, existed, then he could plot against Tathra, and continue to rebuild and preserve The Bryn'adul. Khaeus would call it servitude, but in the end, it would be Sethrak standing over the rotting corpse of Tathra Khaeus.

But having a plan of action for the future wasn't enough to conceal the rage in his voice when he answered Khaeus' demand through clenched teeth:

"As you wish."