Avatar of Hate

The sun was disappearing in the distance; the remnants of orange light glittered over the surface of the lake around Lucan's Mount. She had to be here, Vallasch thought. This was the last place he hadn't looked, although admittedly it was the most obvious place to start. He had rode all over Freeport in search of his love. Searching taverns, militia houses and shady markets everywhere within the city with no sign of her. She had just vanished without a word. It wasn't unusual for her to leave her estate for a couple of days at a time, but when she did he was usually with her. 1

He had stripped off several sections of his armour to start wading through the water. All he had left on were his black leather trousers, boots, and an ornamental chainmail loincloth over the top, and the armour over his left arm. He had to shed some weight from his right arm in order to carry his sword; Bloodfire, but he decided he could use his left arm for parrying or to deliver a hard punch from his gauntlet.2

Lucan's Mount was just a simple pillar of high rock with a relatively flat plateau at the top. There was a climbable ramp that gradually wound its way around the entire thing, giving a view of the entire commonlands outside of Freeport's gates. The visage of the city's immortal overlord was roughly carved into the face of the rock. Vallasch and his mistress had often come here at this time to watch the sun burn out and give way to the night's beautiful darkness, covered in stars and the fractured face of Norrath's second moon. Not many other people came here since Freeport was not a place for those bothered by aesthetics. Which explained why all the races but the dark elves that inhabited it were so ugly he figured.3

He had reached the rocky path and took the time to shake himself off. Bloodfire began to hiss in agitation, obviously distressed that some of the dry blood over its surface had washed off. Keeping low Vallasch climbed his way to the top, pace slow to stop what was left of his armour rattling. But when he got there all stealth was lost as he stood up straight and a dull ache filled his chest. His blue eyes wide and disbelieving at what he saw.4

"You..." he said simply, with a whispered sneer. He recognised both the figures standing there in the dying light before they even turned to face him. He had found the familiar form of his mistress. Her exotic beauty caged in her familiar black armour. And Ryck. A human. He was naturally taller and broader than Vallasch, standing in a simple pair of baggy slacks and his head covered by a conical, straw hat from the eastern isle of Mara. Short, unkempt hair was all over his bare chest and arrogant face. Vallasch looked at him with the same contempt he'd have for an under-evolved animal. He and his mistress had been obliged to work with Ryck a couple of times before, but only by order of the Freeport militia. Not by choice.5

"Hey Katriana," he used her name! Fury surged through Vallasch's heart. No common dog like Ryck is permitted to ever call her by her name! "Isn't that a friend of yours?" he asked the dark elf woman.6

As her eyes settled on Vallasch he felt an urge to shrink away or kneel before her, but he stood fast. "Of sorts," she said. Her face was unreadable, but she didn't seem surprised to see him. "Vallasch is my guardian and... personal aide."7

"Well I'm afraid your service is not required pal. May as well just skulk back where you came from, me and Katriana would like to be alone."8

"Silence," Vallasch growled. "Go bark at the moon you mongrel. Or at someone that's willing to lower himself to acknowledge your worthless existence. And do not ever call her that again or I'll kill you. Vermin are not permitted to speak her name." At that Ryck clenched his jaw and fists, the knuckles whitening. But Vallasch ignored him as his mistress came forward. She looked down her nose at him with her hands on her hips, emanating authority.9

Katriana looked at him like an inconvenience, "And since when exactly were you permitted to speak for me boy?" Her red gaze made him lower his head, sapping his will. "Such permission is mine to give to whomever I desire. Now be gone like a good little pet and if you're very lucky I'll only punish you for your insolence."10

"Mistress, to befriend such a person... is shameful. Both for me and for yourself," Vallasch pleaded. He still couldn't look into her harsh eyes. He knew that he would weep if he tried.11

Her entire demeanour changed from one of strict annoyance to amusement. She folded her arms laughing wryly, "With the way you always beg for my attention, I didn't think you had any shame. Oh my love, you know me better. It's just the way of all life's little distractions; eventually I grow tired of them all. You were always my favourite little plaything and I enjoyed you so much longer than the others before you. But it would eventually end the same way. Sorry sweetie," she said with farcical innocence. "I'm not a sharing woman. Just leave me be." With that she simply turned away from him and went back to look at the view beyond the edge of the rock.12

Vallasch felt himself break into a sweat all over, his body shivered but the dull ache within had become a savage burning. His voice rasped shakily, "I devoted everything to you. You shatter my heart..." A tear rolled down his cheek as he hefted his sword up in a fighting stance, before he roared his hatred to echo across the commonlands, "AND I'LL SHATTER YOUR SOUL!" Charging straight toward her with eyes of malice, he found himself enjoying the look of shock on her face as he swung for her neck. But the attack never connected.13

With blinding speed Ryck had dashed in front, punching Bloodfire's flat side to stop the attack. Then he delivered a powerful thrust with the palm of his other hand into Vallasch's chest, sending him staggering back several steps. Bloodfire made a series of angry whispers as its bloodlust went unsaciated. "Fucking warrior monks," Vallasch growled as he recovered. His anger overcame reason and he charged again, this time making a powerful downward slash. But Ryck easily dodged it, seeming to just casually step aside as if time stood still. He lashed out with a straight punch for Vallasch's face, but this time his elven reflexes saved him and the blow hit his shoulder instead. They each backed off to see how much damage they had inflicted on each other.14

Expecting Ryck to have broken his hand on his shoulder pad, Vallasch looked in shock to find that his spaulder had instead completely splintered off his arm guard from the force of the punch. They began circling each other anticlockwise and he made a fleeting glance toward his mistress. Seeing that she was greatly amused by the confrontation further stoked the fire in his heart. But this time Ryck made the first move and leapt forward. Flesh met blade in a rapid series of clangs. The way monks could parry a sword was extraordinary. Their bare hands striking with such precision that they never touched its sharp edge. Vallasch suddenly wondered how well they would dodge without any legs. He bellowed as he made a broad and low horizontal sweep with Bloodfire. But Ryck jumped high into the air and before Vallasch could react he fell him with a brutal roundhouse kick.15

Dust plumed into the air as Vallasch's body went sprawling across the ground. His weapon was lost and he was but a meter from the edge of Lucan's Mount. From the corner of his eye he could see Ryck take up a disciplined martial arts stance, getting ready to finish him off. But if he was to die, he wanted to at least be on his feet. Slowly dragging himself up, he stood to face his enemy. No sooner had he spread his arms in a crucifix position, than the attack came. In a split second Ryck had closed the distance between them and drove a kick into Vallasch's chest. It hit him like a lightning bolt, breaking ribs and flinging him backward over the cliff. The pain of his injuries was nothing. He felt himself falling, seemingly forever. But he didn't care. What really killed him was despair and betrayal. Even now tears streaked his face. His hatred, his love, his hope, his will and his consciousness were given up all at once.16

As Ryck took her by the shoulders like a trophy and kissed her, Katriana was surprised that regret began to twinge within her. She was more than a little annoyed by the way he handled her. That she was made to yield to him and not the other way around. "Heh, poor fool," he said smugly. "There's no power in this world that can beat me."17

With that a lightning storm began to rake and rend across the blackened sky, rain surged down from nowhere. They both turned and lost their breath in horror at what they saw. The slight form of Vallasch hung limp in the air, like a puppet hung by its shoulder strings. Then great spines seemed to sprout from his back, or rather they became visible. They looked like giant skeletal wings. Pitch black in colour and shimmering in and out of reality, as if they were not truly in this plane of existence. Instead of flapping, ominous thunder cracked as they seemed to rip their way across the fabric of the sky. His head snapped up and beams of abyssal light poured from his eyes. Reddish pink arcs of energy leapt all over his body. When he finally spoke it sounded like a thousand anguished voices all rolled into one, "No power, in this world..."18

Fear overcame Ryck, the same fear that grips a cornered animal. "That's enough of this shit!" he whimpered. He ran toward the thing that wore Vallasch's body, leaping high to attack but he was seized in midair. He writhed in excruciating agony as massive talons lanced through his body, made of the same ethereality as the wings. The last thing he felt was his flesh and sinew begin to tear and his guttural scream was cut short as his body was split apart in gory ribbons.19

Vallasch awoke to the sound of his mistress screaming. He was on his hands and knees filled with the pain of his broken ribs and completely exhausted. There was something missing from his memory that he could not fathom. The demonic wings and claws had vanished. Clarity came when he saw the spattered chunks of Ryck's flensed meat that surrounded him. He had no time to recount everything that happened as his mistress dived atop of him, pounding her fists against his already injured chest. Rising through the pain he wrapped his arms around her body, keeping her arms bound to her sides. He wrestled her to the ground as she squirmed against him. Her struggle was futile; he was simply stronger. His misery and hate came flooding back into him, fuelling him with power. He pressed his lips against hers and tapped into her life energy, siphoning it, breathing it out through her mouth until she went limp. All of his wounds had healed. All but the scar that would be forever in his heart.20

There was one last thing he had to do. Kneeling beside her helpless body he laid a hand over her breastplate. "I once made a vow to you my mistress. I promised that nobody else would ever be able to touch you as long as I lived. I think it's time for a permanent solution to that." He pulled inside of her with his will once more this time drawing on her very soul. He sapped out every last wicked thought, memory and deed from within her, feeling the dark energy as it coalesced in his hand as he pulled it away. He held her tainted essence in his fist. It looked like a black, translucent piece of rock. It was hollow in the centre and filled with a liquid that thrashed around inside its prison with a life of its own. "Now you'll know how it feels, to be trapped alone in darkness for someone's brief amusement. The only solace you'll have is crying to be noticed. And you'll know the limitless despair of always being ignored." He cradled her body and carried it down to the lake. He felt the tears fall down his face again as he gave her dead lips a final kiss, then he let her corpse sink beneath the surface of the water. As he began to walk home wearily, there was a cloying in his mind. The damning question of what he had become. But he dared not to ask.21

On the opposite side of the lake however, sunken beneath the water-bed lay Bloodfire. The living weapon had become silent and the usually gleaming red runes down its length faded. Then the bladed prison crumbled into dust and somewhere, deep within the plane of hatred, something began to laugh.