Path of Dragons 5 - Chapter 78 - Beware the Scarred (Patreon)

Halima stared at the destruction, feeling strangely detached from the scene before her.  Blood covered everything in her field of vision, and body parts were scattered in all directions.  At some point, her clothing had been ripped to shreds, exposing her in every way imaginable, but as shameful as that was, she couldn’t even spare a thought for her humiliation.  Instead, she could only wonder one thing, to which she gave voice a moment later.

“Did I do this?” she asked in a rough voice.

There was no one to answer, though, because she had killed them all. 

Almost a dozen people, dead by her hand, and she’d only picked up a few small scratches, easily ignored.  They wouldn’t even leave scars, though even if they did, there was little chance anyone could have noticed. 

“Halima,” came a gentle voice.  “Be calm. I am here.”

She did not need to turn in order to know who had come.  So, she said, “I lost control, Al-Abadi.  I…I did not intend to…”

Halima let the words drift away as she dropped to her knees, tears flowing down her scarred cheeks.  A moment later, Al-Abadi draped a cloth over her mostly naked body, and he put his arm around her.  As she wept, her lord – the Eternal One – comforted her with his mere presence.  She could feel the power wafting off of him, wrapping itself around her, and squeezing her tight. 

It reminded her of her husband’s embrace.

But he was gone, having been slain in the immediate aftermath of the world’s transformation.  Halima hated that she missed the coward.  He’d abandoned her almost immediately, leaving her to fend for herself as he ran from the monster who’d invaded their home.  It should not have been a surprise.  Rami was no fighter, and he’d proved his cowardice well before Earth felt the touch of the World Tree.  She’d simply been too blinded by love to see it. 

Now, he was gone, but the memory of their life together – short as it was – remained to taunt her with what might have been.  If the world had not changed, perhaps she never would have been made to suffer for her husband’s craven nature.  Maybe they could have lived peacefully.    

Halima would have liked that.

She had killed the beast that had slain Rami, and she had reaped the rewards.  It was frightening, how quickly she had adapted to the new world.  Killing.  Fighting.  Protecting.  She had battled to guard her community against the ever-growing threats of their transformed world, and slowly, she’d grown in power. 

Until the inevitable happened, and they were overrun by a tribe of feral goblins.  These creatures were nothing like their more civilized cousins.  Vicious and bestial, they were monsters with only the barest semblance of sapience.  They’d killed everyone but Halima, who’d only survived because, once the others fell, she had fled. 

For miles and miles, she had traveled across the unfamiliar forests until she could run no more.  That was when the goblins caught her. 

Most of the time, Halima didn’t think about what they did to her.  At the time, she’d thought that torture was the pinnacle of pain.  Now, she knew differently.  Now, she had experienced true agony.  But back then, she was soft.  Weak.  Her screams echoed through the forest, delighting those feral creatures.  They poked and prodded, stabbed and cut.  Bones were broken, and she gained her first scars.

Then, her savior arrived.

Al-Abadi, though he had not taken that title yet. 

He saved her.  He and his men swept through the goblins like the vermin they were, and when all of those detestable creatures were dead, he made her an offer.  Immortality, but at the price of loyalty. 

She agreed, and he held up his end of the bargain.  Ever since, she’d endeavored to give him everything she had.  He was her savior.  Her king.  The Eternal One.  And he deserved more than even she could give. 

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I was on patrol, and…and they attacked me.  I think.  I don’t know if they struck first, but…”

“You must meditate on this,” Al-Abadi said.  “Your mind is not capable of handling the power you now wield.”

“Y-yes, my king,” she breathed through the tears.  “I will.”

After that, they remained in place for a long while.  That such an important man would stoop so low as to comfort one such as Halima – it was the other reason he’d earned her loyalty.  Al-Abadi was not just a leader.  He was more than a god.  He was everything to Halima. 

And if he told her to meditate, then that was what she would do.

Eventually, he guided her to her feet and escorted her back to the headquarters they had commandeered.  No longer did they remain in the shadows, hiding on the outskirts of Nexus Town.  Instead, they had established themselves as the rulers, controlling access to the Branch of the World Tree and punishing any who complained.

Along the way, Halima saw dozens of new faces.  Each one was hidden beneath a black mask, but she had grown accustomed to identifying people by other means.  She didn’t like that Al-Abadi had given so many the gift of Immortality.  They didn’t deserve it.  They had not earned it.  Not like her.  Not like the brothers and sisters who’d been with Al-Abadi for so long. 

But she was not one to question her lord’s decisions.  He was not perfect.  Halima knew that.  But she trusted him to do what was necessary, and to date, that faith had not been misplaced. 

As they passed through the headquarters – which was a walled complex a few blocks away from the main square – Halima couldn’t help but notice the lack of respect Al-Abadi was given by the newcomers.  They didn’t even acknowledge his presence.  Instead, they simply went about their tasks, as if they did not owe him everything.

Her fists tightened.  Her muscles locked up, swelling with power.  And her teeth ground together with enough force that, even a few months before, they would have shattered under the pressure.

Perhaps she would need to educate them as to proper etiquette when in the presence of their superiors.  A storm of rage swirled in her mind. 

“Be calm, Halima,” came Al-Abadi’s soothing voice.  “Master yourself.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, pushing the unending current of rage deeper within her.  Then, she let it out.  In.  Out.  Over and over.  She could feel dozens of eyes on her, though she could not be concerned with their meaningless attention.  They didn’t matter.  There was only Al-Abadi’s voice, her own willpower, and the eternal rage burning within her.  Slowly – ever so slowly – she did as she was commanded and took control of her emotions.  Finally, she opened her eyes to find that four other Immortals – veterans who’d been with Al-Abadi at least as long as her – held her down. 

“I am fine,” she said.  “Release me.”

“Do it,” Al-Abadi said. 

Halima’s brothers and sisters complied, then backed away.  At some point, the cloth covering her had been destroyed, torn to shreds by the sheer power flowing through her.  She covered herself as best she could until someone draped another piece of cloth over her.  Then, Al-Abadi escorted her through the lobby, up the stairs, and to the room she’d been given as her own. 

Some of her things were there.  A photo of her parents.  A bracelet given to her by her late husband.  Her wedding ring.  They were all reminders of the consequences of weakness.  Of what she’d lost.  And more, of what she had gained.

“Call for me if you need my help,” Al-Abadi said as he guided her to the bed.  It was a luxurious thing, with a thick mattress and soft blankets made from the hide of some green-furred creature. 

“I will not trouble you, Al-Abadi,” she said. 

“You will if it is necessary.  After everything you have endured, you deserve my undivided attention,” he said.  An explosion from nearby sounded, and he sighed, “But I cannot give that to you.  You must master yourself, Halima.  I believe in you.”

“Thank you,” she said, her shoulders sagging as he left her to her own devices. 

Inevitably, her mind drifted to the circumstances that led to her situation.  She was now different from all the others.  She was more, even if she had the same two skills as all the others.  Immortality was the same for everyone, and it was self-explanatory.  With that ability, granted by Al-Abadi, she could not die. 

Recently, it had been put to the test, and despite the horrific circumstances, Immortality had proven itself worthy of the name.  Diced up and fed to a monster, Halima had experienced pain unlike anything anyone should have ever been forced to endure.  Days had passed.  Weeks.  And eventually, the skill won the battle.  She had reformed, the ragged and digested pieces of her body coming together until, at last, she had clawed her way out of the beast’s stomach. 

But she had been changed, and all because of her only other skill.  Other than loyalty to Al-Abadi, that was the price of Immortality.  With her survival, she had forfeited her class and archetype – a trade she’d never expected but had chosen to embrace.  The same would eventually happen to all the others.  It was only a matter of time. 

As she meditated, desperately trying to control her breathing, Halima looked at the skill’s description:

Memories of the Past

Each time the bearer of the skill takes lethal damage, they will be scarred.  Every scar will add to their power, granting physical attributes based on the severity of the wound.  Once enough scars have accumulated, class, archetype are forfeit. 

For each scar she received, her power escalated, as evidenced by her overbearing status:

For some, such a status would have been extremely troubling.  Before she’d gained Immortality, Halima had been a Warrior, with a Blademaster class.  Losing those had been quite a blow, especially in the wake of such a traumatic event.  However, with everything that had happened, she knew that her attributes far exceeded anyone else’s in the Trial. 

Before being captured and fed to that beast, her attributes had barely been a quarter of what they now were.  Yet, Halima knew that her power had come at a great price.  Not only had it resulted in the mysterious M that had appeared next to her alignment, but since she’d torn free of that creature’s stomach, she’d struggled to control her rage.

And finally, as she saw when she rose and looked at her reflection in the nearby window, the scars she bore were hideous.  She was barely even recognizable as a human anymore, and certainly not as the pretty woman she’d once been.  Her body was almost entirely androgynous, marred by wicked scars, and completely devoid of anything familiar.

But the power was there, coursing just under her hideous skin.  And she would use that in service of her lord’s will.  Because now that she’d lost everything else – her husband, her friends, and now, her physical identity – loyalty to her savior was the only thing she had left. 

Her hand lashed out, shattering the window into a thousand pieces.  The explosion of force sent the shards far away, and her mind calmed.  With another deep breath, she turned and crossed the room to the small chest at the foot of her bed.  Opening it, she found one of her spare uniforms.  She donned it, wrapping herself in all black before reaching down and grabbing the mask at the bottom.

It was silver and molded into a demonic visage.  That would mark her as different, Al-Abadi had said.  It would mark her as superior.  When she held it to her face, it affixed itself to her skin.  No straps.  No buckles.  It was magical.

With it came an influx of power as her attributes increased.  Halima would have smiled, but her face didn’t really move like that anymore.  The best she could manage was a snarl. 

At the bottom of the chest were two shortswords, both billowing with ethera.  She could not identify them, but Al-Abadi had told her they were Complex-Grade weapons.  Fitting tools for the strongest among them, he’d said.  She took them reverently, as much because of their high quality as because they’d been given by her lord.  They were tokens of his affection.  Of his commitment.  And she treasured them accordingly.

Finally, there was a pendant.  It was also silver, with a simple word: eternal, written in Arabic.  Fitting, because that was what she was.  She slipped the chain around her neck, then tucked the pendant beneath her top. 

She was ready.

And it was a good thing, too, because the fighting that had been ongoing for the past two weeks seemed to have reached a climax.  It was time she lent her swords to the cause.