Shadow Slave

Effie sighed deeply, waiting for the brief moment of stillness to end. Once it did, she would probably turn into a pincushion... surviving that would be a challenge.

She could almost see when the hesitation in the eyes of the soldiers was replaced by malice and willingness to act. Even their fear of the plague was drowned out by bloodlust at that moment.

But just before the soldiers could snap, a low voice reverberated above the crowd:

"Who the hell gave you mongrels the audacity to block the entrance to my tent?"

And almost immediately, that bloodlust was replaced by terror.

The crowd of soldiers parted, revealing the imposing figure of Azarax, the King of Kings. He wore a dark, perilous expression, and his eyes were seething with barely contained rage.

When he noticed the javelin sticking from the mud near Effie, that scathing gaze turned even more terrifying.

In a voice that sounded almost like a growl, Azarax asked his soldiers:

"Since when do I lead an army of cowards?"

The soldiers had already been tense and wary, and his visible fury made them pale. Seeing this, all Effie could do was suppress a dark smile.

What was Azarax trying to say? That he encouraged them to try and kill her, but only in an honest and aboveboard way? Like attacking a bound and wounded woman with their hands, not ranged weapons.

In all honesty, he was being hypocritical. He had chained her in the middle of the camp precisely because he wanted his soldiers to attempt killing her — or hurting her, at least. However, he had only done that because he didn't really believe that they would be able to. What he wanted was to humiliate and torment his prisoner, grounding her spirit down, not lose his priceless trophy entirely.

But, ironically enough, at that moment, it was the spirits of his soldiers that seemed to crack. The hypocrisy of their tyrannical commander was the last drop that defeated their resolve, turning them from a crowd of seasoned murderers into a crowd of frightened, tired, starving men.

“Disperse! We are taking that damn castle today, so prepare to march!"

As Azarax bellowed, the soldiers glanced at each other, hesitated for a moment, and then followed his command.

That brief moment of hesitation, however, would have never happened before. He noticed it, as well, his face darkening even further.

As the soldiers dispersed, he made his way toward Effie and silently jerked her upright. The radiant priestess of War was gone at that moment. Instead of her, a gaunt woman covered in dirt and dried blood was in front of him, her hair like a dirty rag, her face pale and sunken.

Her eyes, however, were still the same, even if they were clouded by pain.

Azarax snarled, then snapped her shackles with his bare hands and dragged her toward his tent.

“Unsightly... pathetic. At this rate, they will really kill you, priestess. We can't have that, though... no, that wouldn't be fun at all. Everything will be over too soon..."

Inside the tent, he threw her roughly to the floor and took off a leather cord from his belt, tying her hands tightly. Effie thought that a piece of leather was much better than enchanted shackles, but her joy was short-lived — a moment later, the cord moved like a living being and tightened around her wrist, betraying its mystical nature.

At least her hands were bound in front of her, this time.

Azarax studied her for a few moments, then snarled.

"Stay still if you want to live. I'll deal with you later."

With that, he stormed off from the tent. Effie was left alone.

And once she was left alone, resting on the lush carpet instead of cold mud, she finally had time to realize it...

That today, one way or another, it would all be over.

The siege might not end just yet. The fight her friends were fighting could continue for a while... but the ending of the Nightmare was going to be decided before the night fell.

And her part in all this would most likely be over, too.

When Azarax promised to deal with her later, he had not sounded too menacing... as far as a sadist whose hobby as of late had been torturing her could sound that way. However, it was only because he still failed to realize the magnitude of what she had done.

By the time he returned to the camp, numerous things would change.

Kai and the rest of her cohort only had to push a little bit more to make the defeat of the Steel Horde inevitable. Hopefully, they knew that as well. The Stone Castle had to withstand the assault — that way, the morale of the Steel Horde would be completely broken.

It would be even better if news of Jet attacking another convoy arrived at the same time. Hunger was quite a frightening thing as well, after all.

Hunger, disease, death, and war... the Steel Horde would soon learn to fear all four. Then, Azarax would not be able to deny the fact that salvaging the situation had become all but impossible.

He would soon find out that he was being consumed by the plague, as well. It would probably not kill him, but it would make killing him far easier. And when he realized all that... his anger would only have one way to escape. He could only vent it on Effie.

Lying on the opulent carpet covering the floor of his tent — plundered from some fallen palace, no doubt — she smiled weakly.

It would be quite ironic if he had saved her from a lynch mob, only to kill her with his own two hands on the same day.

There was a silver lining to all of it, though.

‘He'll only kill me if he completely loses control.'

And if he lost control, it would mean that his days were truly and utterly numbered. So, Effie's quiet smile turned into a grin.

‘Come back sooner, Azarax... come back quick. I am bored with this arrangement, as well...'