Chapter 1: Clash of the Urtykes
Tuest reclined back, gazing up at the constellations that marred the otherwise austere sky. He was a man of simple pleasures, unsophisticated in nature. That was all the world seemed to have room; extravagancies but a distant memory, pale and faded with age. War made no allowances except for the necessities, and even those were sparse nowadays. The only means of maintaining sanity was savoring simple pleasures the world seemed so reluctant to grant. He vaguely recalled a time when his thoughts weren’t tainted with the scars and atrocities he had endured over the past twenty years. Friendships, brotherhoods, and an unbreakable tenaciousness, had been annihilated before him. It was enough to break most men, and since the time when the Trykes had first crossed the Saphrodines it had broken many.
Yet Tuest’s sanity endured. Hard men ultimately grew fickle, but Tuest’s resilience wasn’t born of implacability. It was born of purpose. Idealistic as it was, he persevered, believing nothing was insurmountable and that was the source of his persistence. The serenity of the heavens was a welcome reprieve from brutal reality.
After a few long moments of this Tuest rose and examined the encampment before him. Most of the soldiers had retired for the night, and the camp was eerily still. Scanning over it he spotted Antara resting on her back, gazing up at the heavens. Sleep remained an elusive prey for her as well.
He approached her. Lying on her back as she was, her body still reached higher than he did erect. A time ago, a few years that seemingly stretched into eternities, this would have discomforted him, but he had grown accustomed to her presence. She was the only Urtyke he could make the claim for. Time changes me still, old and weathered as I am, it seems.
“It is strangely profound,” he said still approaching her, “the insignificance of everything we value, when balanced against the heavens and all their majestic vastness.” She turned her head to face him, her exquisite freckled face a perfect mask of serenity.
But that’s all it is; a mask. Underlying that placid expression was the same anguish he himself had grown all too intimate with over the last two decades. More so, she had kin on both sides of the war. A traitor to her own kind, Antara switched in the belief that the Trykes were incapable of ever overthrowing their current malicious rulers, and throughout the war she remained the only vestige of hope for him and his homeland, Romshilar.
“It’s a comforting thought in a way, no matter the outcome of this conflict, the heavens remain indifferent.” She took a deep breath and sighed, “Less pressure, if only as a fanciful notion.” She turned her head towards him, shifting her raven black curls emanating the tranquil moonlight, and offered a meek smile, “Can’t sleep either Tuest?”
“It’s more difficult each night, but why should sleep differ from anything else now days. Even the blissful ignorance sleep carries is a struggle to attain.” He shook his head, bringing his hand up to stroke the grey ruggedness covering his neck, “Self-pity never did anybody no favors though, and frankly, I prefer being awake, aware. The bliss of sleep is nothing but a lie.”
She scrunched her face sensing his dour mood, “Is that so unpleasant though? As you’re fond of saying, you have to find pleasure in the little things. Thinking thoroughly enough about anything, everything becomes a lie, and all notions happiness decays with it. Sometimes it’s better to just accept things for what they are and enjoy them.”
She always did have a way of seeing the lighter side. “I suppose.” He shrugged. This time they both exchanged a brief, modest smirk.
Antara turned her head to gaze back up at the stars, “But sleep does make tomorrow come that much quicker, and so for tonight I am contented to stay awake. A bitter victory is the best we can hope for; you know that. But we make the best of what we are dealt.”
Changing the topic, Tuest asked “Do you ever think back to the days before your people crossed over?”
“Occasionally, even back as far to remember it fondly sometimes. I can even recall sparse memories of the time before my ascent but they are unclear, muddled.” She turned again to look at him, her smooth salient face larger than his body many times over, “The happiest thoughts are those of the future. A future without this savage war and the world is returned to a peaceful place again; a world without refugees constantly fleeing northward. But this time I can completely abandon Tress and all its depravity”
“I guess we are cut from the same cloth in that respect, always finding redemption in what’s to come.” They exchanged a warm smile, “Would it be permissible for me to come aboard?”
“Of course, it’d be a welcomed respite from the solitude. I always enjoy your…touch anyways.” Antara’s grin widened as she placed one of her silken, cottage sized hands next to Tuest. He stepped up on it, and she lifted him over her chest and set him down on the top of her chest, between her two lavish breasts. He reclined, still in his soldier’s attire, resting his back against the pliant flesh and staring into her nubile face, illuminated by lucid moonlight. I always imagine heaven similar to this. Doesn’t really matter since I’ll never see it.
***
They lied together until the first glimmers of sunlight beamed over the horizon and signaled the day to come.
Soldiers were quickly engaged in deconstructing the encampment, loading wagons with supplies. The bulk of it was carried by Antara, in a pack rigged from leather and sheepskin that attached to her leather skirt. With the help of an Urtyke, it took minimal time to bundle the remainder of the site and mobilize.
The city was still a few leagues off, and even mounted the soldiers could scarcely keep up with Antara, who lumbered slowly as to allow for a somewhat manageable pace. Tuest rested on her shoulder beside her neck, grasping her long, golden hoop earring to maintain his seating as they traveled.
“So the last scouts said there were ten thousand Trykes and half a dozen Urtykes amassed thirty leagues or so away from Altoa, with no mention as to their ranks which I assume probably means all they are all Gargans.” Tuest informed her. Urtykes came in three ranks. The smallest ones, usually no bigger than 120 feet, and most common were called Gargans. Antara herself was a Gargan, just under 90 feet tall. Pantarchs were less common that Gargans and tended be somewhere between 150-200 feet, a significant increase from their Gargan sisters. Lastly there were Paragons. He had only seen one in the last two decades and heard that less than half a dozen existed. The Tryke generals seemed reluctant to use them, as they were very thorough in their annihilation and often killed as many Trykes as Romshilans and occasionally an Urtyke or two. Nobody was exactly sure how much larger a Paragon was than her Urtyke counterparts, as they left so few survivors and those that did survive never were presented the opportunity to make a good estimation. Exaggerations were easy to come by. Some fools even claimed they were over a league tall, but that was lunacy. Tuest guessed they were somewhere over three hundred feet tall, still breathtakingly colossal.
“Twenty five cohorts of soldiers, seems we’ll both have our hands full. What do we know of the city’s defenses?” She asked. Over the past couple years she had learned how to lower her voice so she didn’t whisper, but still keep from traveling far enough so that the infantry or Calvary below could overhear or eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Well fortified, for all that means now days: A full five regiments of Silica Pegusi and Pearl Aeronauts with bombardiers to accompany them, twelve thousands soldiers which are primarily infantry, a few dozen demolitionists with fluxa charges and pyrite bombs.” He paused for breath, as maintaining his seating a speaking wasn’t particularly easy. “The artillery also seems to be well prepared. A couple dozen catapults and trebuchets line the city walls.” An intimidating amassment by any foe’s standards, and the reason Tuest and his five thousand soldier’s had been afforded the time to reach Altoa before it was leveled. “If rumors are to be trusted there was another group of Urtykes, Pantarchs, arriving at dusk which meant the assault could be expected as soon as midday.”
“Hmm…” Antara hummed, musing to herself. Although she might only be a Gargan she was easily the mightiest Urtyke, other than the Paragon, he had ever witnessed. Only the most desirable women were chosen to become Urtykes with little regard given to martial prowess. Antara was the only Urtyke who, to the best of his knowledge, had had any sort of prior combat experience, and that made her extremely deadly to other Urtykes. Urtykes were chosen in this fashion as sultriness was very effective at unnerving enemy soldiers. A vile abomination was significantly easier to rally against than a colossal nymph, and the tactic continued to prove effective throughout the course of every war the Tryke’s had fought.
However, this left them a very exploitable weakness, one which Antara was contented to capitalize on. Urtykes had little to no aptitude for fighting other Urtykes. Antara however, was an unequaled swordswoman and had slain dozens of Urtykes over the last few years, posing the single greatest threat to the Tryke invasion. Armed with her Karabela and swordbreaker she was a force to be reckoned, even had she been of normal stature.
The cities walls were just coming into view. An hour or so and they would be among them. By this point in the struggle, Antara was well known by both of the enmities, and would cause little to no panic among the citizens sighting her.
As they made their way through the drawbridges into the city, or in Antara’s case, over it as she had to step over the natural walls, the scope of the forthcoming battle became even more apparent. Soldiers lined the walls armed with longbows, crossbows, javelins, spears, and an assortment of other pull arms with swords and bucklers strapped to the belts and backs of chainmail clad figures. Silica Pegusi soared overhead. The Pearl Aeronauts riding them, armed with long serrated lances and pyrite munitions, making certain to steer clear from Antara’s path.
The Silica Pegusi were the chief factor, even before Antara’s change of heart, in engaging the Urtkes these past twenty years. Without them, the war would have been a systematic slaughter of every person this side of the Saphrodines would pave a path from Berikhall to Altoa. Still, it was a losing fight. Urtykes were incredibly resilient, even beyond the natural endowments their size gave them. They healed extraordinary quickly, and their skin was nigh impenetrable. Still, the Romshilan army had killed their fair share of Urtykes, mostly Gargans, but also a few Pantarchs since the struggles inception.
A prominent trade center, Altoa acted as the primary junction between the north and south dominances and thus was extremely prosperous, well-fortified, and populated. Illustrations of their wealth decorated the entire city. Massive simulacrums, standing much as forty feet tall, of historic commanders and patricians were erected throughout its famed avenues and plazas. Streets intersecting the palaces and mansions of the aristocracy paved with marble made an exorbitant display of their affluence. And even on the eve of this irreconcilable siege, the streets bustled with travelers and merchants, peasants and pedestrian strolling through the bazaars throughout the city.
Stepping between and around them was proving quite tricky for Antara. She had been here once before, back before the city had become a lodestone for refugees fleeing their extinguished homelands. Their tents and wagon circles surrounded the city walls. Apparently the ruling council resolved to deny the citizens knowledge of the impending attack. The obscenity of this city’s elected councilmembers brought forward a rancid taste in Antara’s mouth. They weren’t worth their salt; these civilians could have been spared, to flee northward…And what, become refugees again? Continue to live the same hapless lives, caught in a mordant cycle of fear and flight. Perhaps it’s not cynicism which elicits this decision, but a sardonic mercy.
She pitied them, but couldn’t afford to show it. She was their savior. It was evident in their eyes as they gazed upon her. A partisan she must remain at least in image, ascetic and resolute, lest these people lose what tattered faith they clung to. Now more than ever she felt the fatigue from her cross to bear.
Finally they reached their destination, the southernmost buildings of the city. Once they had housed thousands upon thousands of the city’s most impoverished. Now they were home to the bulk of the cities protectors. Lodging designed to accommodate less than half their numbers quartered twelve thousand soldiers, now seventeen thousand with Tuest’s additions. The city was splitting at the seams from overpopulation and refugees.
Antara, aware of their arrival, reached up to her shoulder and set Tuest down aside the largest tent amidst the makeshift barracks. He waved her off and entered the general’s tent.
***
The captain sat lurched over a large wooden table, maps and parchments sprawled out haphazardly atop the surface, heedless of Tuest’s entrance.
“Sir” Tuest said straitening himself and saluting.
“At ease.” The wrinkled aged marshal gave Tuest a cordial grin, “It has been far too long friend. And you’re still as repulsive as ever.”
“Go die in a fire you old wretch.” He countered with the same sincere warm smile, “It’s good to see you to, Paliadus. Seems timesa’ been cruel to you also”
“I make due. Seeing you and…your companion stirs memories of my youth save the naivety and credulousness I haven’t felt in decades. Alas, I regret we will have to wait to be reacquainted; more pressing matters to attend to.”
“There always is. Still, it was pleasant. Not many I can call friend now days.” Tuest sighed, “So what’s the situation?”
“The latest report from Silica scouts is that there are currently six Urtykes, all Gargants thankfully, and an estimated fifteen thousand soldiers counting the newly arrived, mostly infantry with some negligible Calvary. The direness, though, is from what’s approaching. Four Pantarchs are estimated to be arriving in a couple hours.” Palaidus abruptly broke into a coughing fit. He recovered after a moment and whipped the spit from his lips. They resumed speaking “Age makes fools of us all, aye Tuest?”
“Aye it does.”
“Anyways, these Pantarchs. Alone they are more threatening than the entire army currently camped outside our gates, and if I had to wager on it, I’d say they plan to attack as soon as possible, before cover of dark.”
The Urtykes derived much of their power from the sun. During the night their enhanced regeneration and reinforced skin disappeared, making them more vulnerable. They had yet to develop anything other than baseless theories as to why.
Almost as if on cue, warning horns sounded in the distance, signaling the approaching enemy. “And so it begins” Tuest announced, to himself more than anybody.
***
Goliath footfalls, massive and terrible, fueled explosions which rocked the air and signaling the attackers’ approach. The preliminary attacks invariably led with the Urtykes. Their eagerness kindled by patience which had been stretched tighter than a silk bowstring awaiting the attack. Redolent sweat permeated the ranks upon ranks of soldiers along the city walls, assembled into intricate formations. Tuest could feel their consternation, ineffectually hidden beneath a mask of false intrepidity. Fear, littered the throngs of defenders like an outbreak of leprosy, ubiquitous and unyielding. Sensing the apprehension in their brethren only served reinforce their own. The rituals of comradely and patriotism failed to invigorate the soldiers as it had in decades past against typical foes and so beyond the explosion of footfalls from the oncoming titans, stillness characterized the approaching dusk.
Tuest felt it also; the cold ever present chill, a relentless barrage against any mortals resolve. Years upon years of battles, defeats, victories, and death had deadened Tuest’s sensitivity to fear, yet it was still undeniably there. His heartbeat pounded ceaselessly, endeavoring to shatter his sanity. The entirety of it, the fear, apprehension, anticipation, he had become all too intimate with in the past two decades. But here he was again, staunchly grounded before an unstoppable foe. I’ll never learn will I? He chuckled lightly under his breath.
The cool wind, a forerunner of the soon approaching winter, gusted across him fluttering his coat and cooling the sweat permeating his brow. He ran his arm across his face to whip sweat which had gathered in his beard away. Their entire operation depended on Antara. Once, a few years ago, this might have worried him. However, she had proven her competency time and time again. What worried him were the primary soldiers. They were brave men, astonishingly so considering they took upon themselves the most perilous duty. That bravery was soon to be tested and, provided enough of them persisted, the city might hold past the initial blitz.
From around the canyon bend Tuest could make out the first signs of them. Large, beyond all scope of the word, they closed the distance between them and the city at an astounding pace. A deep war horn pierced the air reverberating off the fortifications. The Pegusi took to the sky in a wave of alabaster. They separated and dispersed, flying far above even the heads of approaching Urtykes, concealing themselves among the clouds. Captains barked orders, and soldiers reciprocated. The defining moment of the day was upon them
The massive beauties were nearly upon them, clothed in their normal attired and armed with their enormous spears, when Antara burst from atop a cliff meeting the tailing member. In the briefest of instants her Karabela severed the head of the smallest Urtyke in a fountain of red raindrops. The body ran for a few more steps before collapsing motionlessly to the ground, momentum carrying the head to land a few feet behind it. The Urtykes, having overcome their instant of shock, turned to engage her. Antara simply grinned and braced herself for the coming attack. They rushed her, their movements awkward clumsy when compared to Antara’s polished grace.
From the clouds descended wave upon wave of the Silica Pegusi, the size of baby birds to the Gargants, seemingly unthreatening; however the Urtykes knew differently from experience. Clusters of fluxa charges descended upon another Gargan, bombarding it in a series of explosions and dropping it to its knees and then the ground. It wasn’t dead, and given a few moments it would rise totally revitalized. However, the primary infantry were already upon it, hacking and gouging it indiscriminately. As long as they could force it to keep healing, it couldn’t rise. A specified squad worked on its massive chest, large for a woman of any size, slowly making its way to the one organ which would ensure the creatures demise. Many of the Urtykes, Antara among them, had remarkably large breasts. Supposedly it was both a combination of the selection process, and furthered by whatever made them so large. Regardless, it made killing them an even more arduous process.
Antara glided around thrust after thrust, occasionally using her swordbreaker to deflect the jabs she was unable to evade. She was being forced further and further from the city. However, only three of the standing Urtykes were attacking her. A fourth, this one large even by Pantarch standards, was making its way towards the city.
Catapults lobbed boulders from the city forceful enough to crush fully matured dragons beneath them. The Urtyke, an exorbitantly beautiful blonde whose unblemished lightly tanned skin radiated beneath the descending sun, effortlessly caught the boulder and flung it back, demolishing a segment of wall. Catapults and demolitionists fired again and again, but she merely caught the projectiles with her seemingly delicate fingers or casually sidestepped them. The boulders she tossed back demolished more and more of the cities fortifications. An evil grin shone from her flawless face. An explosive managed to graze her ear, and another she barely caught. The effort was becoming noticeably more difficult as she closed the distance. Eventually one struck her on her copious breast, staggeringly large even for an Urtyke. It spoke for the sheer strength of the material attempting to contain them, pressed up and out as they was. The boulder ineffectually bounced off; leaving no trace she had even been struck.
She continued onward, repeatedly being ineffectually struck, the same disdainful grin on her face. Just coming upon the city walls, she easily kicked her foot through the assemblage of stone and mortar. Soldiers and debris were thrown over the troops and citizens inside the walls. She forcefully brought her other foot down upon a structure, thirty feet in height it barely reached halfway up her calf. The stone and wood structure simply vanished beneath her massive foot, spraying a barrage of splintered wood and shattered mortar over Tuest and the other Romshilan soldiers.
Gazing skyward he could see her face, distorted by the smoke thrown up by her onslaught upon Altoa. For the briefest of instants he felt their eyes lock, an unspoken exchange. He could see the hesitation her gaze now held. She averted her attention away from him and the city and looked back towards the engagement developing outside, scanning for Antara. From his vantage point atop the barracks Tuest could make out the majority of the battlefront. The primary army had not been afforded enough time to exterminate the falling Gargan, and was now engaged with the Tryke army. The versed soldiers of the Romshilan army met their callow adversaries with an overwhelming fierceness. The clock was ticking, and the wounds marring the falling Gargan were slowly mending themselves. It was only a matter of moments until she was fully recovered and primed to reenter the fray.
Even further was Antara, attempting to stave off the attacks of three different foes who weren’t quite as incompetent as they had initially appeared. Spears flashed with blinding speed, and were promptly evaded and parried with spryness beyond what even the most adept warriors possessed; her movements blurred, too quick for most mortal eyes to follow. An incongruous symphony of explosive cracks of metal meeting metal reverberated off the canyon walls, seeming to come from all sides at once.
From behind her, Tuest could make out the second wave of approaching Urtykes. Three Pantarchs in their massive splendor, who’s massive forms seemed to tower over even Antara. The tallest, when completely erect, was almost twice Antara’s size, although still noticeably shorter than the blonde assailing the city; Antara’s eyes when she stood erect would stare directly into this gargantuan’s womanhood. She was in trouble.
The Pantarch assailing the city, her feeling of safety reestablished, turned to regard her prey, the same arrogant lecherous grin on her face. Without warning, a massive conflagration consumed her right shoulder. The great inferno seared her flesh an amalgam of black and crimson. She loosed a shriek of Agony, gripping her charred appendage and dropping to her knees, decimating a substantial strip of great stone wall.
From the heavens he spotted half a dozen Silica Pegusi descended from inside the cover of clouds towards the towering woman. The bait had worked.
***
An earsplitting shriek indicated the success of the first bombardier. That would make Lixi’s job that much easier. The wind ripped past his face at incredible speeds. The glass eye covers affixed to his face allowed him to see through the torrent of air as he sat behind the Pearl Aeronaut piloting the Pegasus. Bellow he could see the tremendous nymph, already sowing death and destruction upon the defenseless citizens of his hometown. He tightened his grip on the alchemic ball in his left hand and the grappler in his right. Sweat was blown off his face as soon as it was excreted from his pores.
Closer…closer…closer… The giantess only seemed to get larger. “Release!” the pilot yelled as the Pegusi began to arc upwards back towards the clouds. Releasing his grip on the beast’s mane he fell. He flipped backwards over his head to face the ground, spreading his arms wide for maximum air resistance, bomb and hook still in hand, as he descended upon his enormous target. The exhilaration of freefalling was amplified by the peril of his objective. Shifting himself, he adjusted his trajectory to parallel her unscathed shoulder.
What must have been seconds seemingly stretched for minutes, but he was upon her. He hooked her skin at the top of her shoulder and continued to fall until the rope fastened to him caught his weight with a starling traumatic tug, but his body had been trained for such forces. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, using the rope as a pendulum he swung himself towards her skin, and fastened the explosive to her using the alchemic goo which would detonate it. He cut the rope as he push off horizontally, away from her, and fell again towards the ground before pulling his wafting halo, a makeshift parachute made from a three and a half foot diameter ring and lightweight tarp, from his off of back and glided safely away, carried by the whim of the wind.
A few dozen seconds later he heard her excruciation holler as explosive followed by explosive detonated in interspersed mixture of fire, blood, and smoke. Looking back, he could see the Pantarch was terribly injured. Empty gaps erupted where chunks of flesh had been blown clear off. Her skin was covered in deep lacerations which bleed incessantly. Yet she still remained upright, on her knees and forearms, heaving with the effort. She looked nearly dead from what he could tell with her back to him. And then she started to rise…
***
The newcomers were closing on Antara’s unguarded rear and flanks. At their size, she judged she had under a minute to get passed her attackers. They’ve improved a lot in the last two years. She could recall a time when three opponents were easily dismissed. Now evading and parrying their attacks wasn’t necessarily difficult, but their combined assault left no room four riposting. No choice. Backs against the wall, literally!
Using her tongue, she dislodged a small round bundle from between her cheek and backmost molar and crunched it between her teeth. Boundless vitality accompanied the release of sorcerous energy which immersed into itself into her flesh, permeating every splinter of her body. Her skin began to glow a light translucent cerulean. The Urtykes, suddenly aware of what was happening vaulted away from her. With a single thought she embraced the profusion of inhuman energy contained within her, focused on a single invocation, and suddenly she was gone.
A shockwave of blue power discharged in every direction from where Antara had just stood. The closer cluster of Gargans were hurtled away and tumbled across the ground two dozen paces. The approaching Pantarchs’ feet were ripped out from beneath them and they tumbled to the ground, ensuing further shaking of the valley.
Blindingly, a second strobe of light flashed and Antara was returned exactly where she had been. Without hesitation, she lunged at one of the grounded Gargans and thrust her swords directly into her throught, following her momentum over the corpse and tucking into a roll. Blood showered from the wound as the titan crumpled and died. Antara gracefully transitioned from a roll into a run, and sprinted towards the periled city. Behind her the remaining Gargans and Pantarchs rose to pursue.
Ahead she spotted the thrashed Pantarch which looked more dead than alive. Yet it was rising, its wounds healing unnaturally fast, even for a Urtyke. Holes and gaps healed nearly as quickly as they had been inflicted, and in seconds the enthralling colossus stood unmarked and unclothed, the only sign of the barrage were the remnants of her incinerated garments. Even Pantarchs don’t heal that quickly.
Antara, driven partially by purpose and partially adrenaline, squelched her fear and sprinted faster. The Pantarch turned and their eyes connected; fear was supplanted with terror. Before she could react everything became distant, her muscles no longer her own. They continued to mindlessly propel her forward. Panic riddled her mind; that was unquestionably her own. It had utter control over her body, but not her consciousness.
However, she could still see through her eyes, commandeered as they were. She got closer and closer to the apparition which had once been a Pantarch. Something entirely more powerful stood before her now. Something out of myths and legends, an entity that had nearly attained deity, but still incorporeally resided among the mortal world, waiting to ascend to godhood. Aldeitus was their proper name, but in flesh they were nicknamed the eyeless and it seemed this one had gotten impatient, choosing to return to the flesh. It was a very uncommon occurrence as it often prorogued or entirely denied them access to deity.
Antara continued to stride towards the possessed buxom marvel of feminine form, futilely trying to recapture her own muscles to no avail. Another explosion, a bomb which had somehow been delayed, eradicated the entire right side of the eyeless’ torso, breast and all, but it instantaneously healed. The eyeless heedlessly disregarded the entire incident.
Dead, we’re all dead. Hopeless, that thing its... its… NO! Fight it! Resist, somehow. Her struggles were fruitless. Even separated from her muscles, her mind felt the exhaustion from her efforts. So this is how I die. I had to know it was coming eventually, right? A sardonic deceit, betraying myself with delusions of success. Cold bitter irony. Antara conceded her struggles and fear, simply surrendering to her fate.
***
The entire battlefield was motionless. Even the Pantarchs, now barely twenty, relative, spans distance from the city, stood unmoving observing the spectacle. An eyeless had appeared in the flesh; such a spectacle was virtually unprecedented, and now before them stood a very specimen validating what was generally believed superstition.
Tuest stared slack jawed along with everybody else. Even the humblest stories of eyeless insinuated their extraordinary power, so it only seemed natural that it would take the form of one of the most powerful creatures on the continent. The posture, strait and implacable, was one suited to a demigod. Standing as it was, nearly right on top of him, he could only examine its backside. It had the a physique to make princesses out of stories seem hags; with its long sculpted legs, slender hourglass torso, and wide hips all immaculately complemented by her firm and flawless lightly tanned skin still further accentuated by her silken blonde hair.
Antara seemed to be the only other individual moving, and she was striding towards the demigod. She halted just a few paces away, the top of her head below the Pantarch’s golden trimmed crotch. Whatever exchange was going on beyond the two of them, it was completely beyond Tuest. Antara cocked her head up to meet the eyeless stare of the giantess who dwarfed her, comparatively. What in Abyss’ name is going on. They’re just standing there, almost as if they are in a trance.
Flexing his fingers to break the tension onset by the stillness, he was finally able to avert his gave from the spectacle and look upon his troops and enemies. None of them seemed capable of what he had just done, but his gut told him whatever was about to occur would shape the rest of this battle.
In stark contrast with previous moments, the blonde Pantarch abruptly kneeled, grabbing Antara’s head and smashing it into the ground, emphatically obliterating it. It exploded, shooting pierces of dismember scalp and skull in every direction accompanied by a spray of crimson. The once pristine image of the Pantarch was now stained with blood, the innocence of which made it seem that much darker to contrast her light complexion.
Tuest could only stare dumbfounded in arrant shock, his mind failing to register what had just occurred. Antara had always seemed immortal, she didn’t even age, and now…she’s dead. No, Antara can’t die. Its…impossible. But the irrefutable proof of her demise lay a few hundred yards before him, decapitated in an expanding pool of blood.
Shock was gradually displaced with sorrow and with total disregard for his image, the battle, and everything else, Tuest’s resolve which had carried him adamantly the last twenty years shattered; the perpetual silence broken by his sobs of grief.
***
Antata awoke in wafting darkness