Chapter 17

Far atop the northern rise of Viscro, just beyond the ashen remnants of what once was a village, the Man stood. His cloak whipped violently behind him, the frost wind from the Welch Lands clawing at his face like the cold fingers of death itself. Below him, the great river Lishna shimmered under a pale moon, carving the border between the Welch Lands and Yainna like a scar between two realms.

One of the undead scouts stood beside him, silent, waiting.

"All the torment, all the pain, I have endured," the Man began, voice low, rough like iron grinding stone. His eyes, hollow and black, did not blink. "'Tis true, that a man is only a man by the things he has endured."

His tone shifted. Deeper. Angrier. A growl pulled from the darkest parts of his being.

"I've seen the stomach of Hell itself. I once thought, in my ignorance, that I had lived a pure life. That the gods would welcome me to Lakima." He clenched his fist tightly. The frost wind sliced across his face. His knuckles paled. "But there is no Lakima. There is only this... and Hell. And Man has turned this into Hell on Earth."

He turned his face from the Welch Lands. His gaze fell back toward Viscro, the village of corpses.

"So if Hell is what they wish for, then so shall it be. I am nothing but a mere instrument in this grand horizon."

Another scout stepped forward, this one with decayed lips and a tongue that still moved.

"The ritual is ready, my lord."

The Man—Virvo—nodded once. Without a word, he turned from the river, the biting cold forgotten as he strode down into the remains of Viscro.

The air grew warmer, unnaturally so. Smoke curled in the distance. And there, in the very heart of the ruined village, the bodies were laid out—a ring of death. Every corpse, every soul slaughtered under his wrath, placed precisely in a vast circle. Within the circle, another. Empty, waiting.

Virvo stepped into the center.

He raised his arms skyward, his fingers spread, palms pleading to the black heavens.

"Bundihoo! Grivatez! RISE. OBEY. AND FEAST!" he roared, the final word echoing like thunder across the barren plain.

The skies answered.

Clouds swirled and twisted into a vortex. Thunder cracked. Lightning streaked violet and white. The winds whipped into frenzy. Screams—inhuman, high and shattering—rose with the wind. But they were not from the living.

The ground beneath the bodies began to split.

Steam burst from the cracks, followed by flames and shadow. Virvo stepped out of the circle just as the earth yawned wider, devouring the dead. One by one, the bodies dropped into the abyss, their blood hissing as it touched the infernal heat. In their place, something emerged.

The first clawed hand gripped the edge of the cracked soil.

Then another. Then dozens.

From the bowels of Hell came the Vemonids.

They were no taller than a man, but that was where the resemblance ended. Their limbs were long and sinewed, ending in clawed fingers that shimmered like obsidian. They moved on all fours, unnaturally fluid, their backs arched like beasts and their hind legs bent with power, like a predator mid-leap.

Their flesh was pale—so pale it glowed with a blue luminescence beneath the dark sky. Their skin was not smooth but layered with feather-like ridges that bristled along their spines and forearms, giving them the appearance of some infernal bird stripped of its wings. Behind their necks, these feathered scales rose and fell, twitching with every breath.

But it was their eyes that truly unsettled.

Blue. Glowing. Twin lanterns of hunger and hate.

They screamed. Guttural, distorted howls that seemed to come from somewhere far beneath their throats. Some clawed the air. Others crouched, sniffing the wind. As the last corpse vanished and the final Vemonid clawed its way into the world, silence fell.

Virvo stepped forward.

"I am Virvo. Your ruler. I now command thee: Obey."

Silence still.

Then, as one, the Vemonids dropped to their forelimbs and bowed their heads.

"Virvo," they spoke in perfect unity, their voices layered and otherworldly, "We obey."

Virvo chuckled, the sound more beast than man. He looked over them, this hell-born army.

"You speak the language of man?"

One stepped forward, taller than the rest, its head cocked at an unnatural angle. It spoke.

"We speaketh all tongues."

Virvo grinned.

"Good."

He turned, walking slowly back to the edge of the rise. From there, he could see the flickering lights of distant watchtowers along the Yainnan border. Far beyond that, mountains. Cities. The very heart of the realm.

He raised his voice.

"I wish to see nothing but brimstone upon Yainna!"

The Vemonids roared. It shook the earth beneath them. And then they ran.

Not like men. Like beasts. On all fours. Fast. Tireless.

One by one, they passed their master, clawing their way forward, shrieking into the dark, headed south toward the sleeping kingdom.