№1
Welcome Reader!
I’m happy you’ve taken interest in my novel, but before you proceed, I want to warn you of some content in the following work.
This is a Reverse-Harem, Omegaverse, Dark[!!] Fantasy.
A General list of all potentially triggering content is as follows;
-Descriptive on page Explicit Sexual Content including themes of BDSM, Coercion, SA, Forced Intoxication
-Abuse, Manipulation, Blackmail, and Toxic Obsession.
-Extreme Violence & Gore.
-Servitude & Slavery
This is a work of fiction and in no way aims to glorify or promote its darker themes.
As it is also a work in progress and a loosely edited draft, I will update this content warning as needed.
I thank you kindly for your momentary attention.
Moonbane Legions
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“Ow!!!” I cry out for the hundredth time as the brush is yanked through my hair. Another pass and it catches more snarls of sepia waves. “Mother! This could be the last time you see your precious daughter, and you are spending it beating on me?”
She lets out a distressed wail and I yelp in pain as she smacks the side of my head with the back of the brush.
“How dare you speak with such cruelty!” And just like that she is weeping again.
I sigh, adjusting uncomfortably in the dress I’ve been shoved into. It’s a layered satiny gown of pale blues and greens, too pretty and too light. I am a little too muscled and tanned for such a delicate piece of clothing. In its pools of fabric I look like a brute in a whimsical pond. “My name won’t be drawn, mother. It’s more likely I catch the eye of a prince and he takes me away, dolls me up in fine silks, and crowns me his future queen!”
“I will never understand your optimism.” Mother rolls her eyes, frowning down in the reflection of the shabby vanity with lips that refuse to cease their quivering. We look little alike. Our deep brown hair and stark blue eyes Are the same but the similarities end there.
“After today, we will only have one more to attend. Then I can continue on with my life and be done with it.”
“Ha! Or you could just take a husband. Many uncoupled marry to avoid the culling! There is no shame in it.”
I shake my head and give her a deep frown in the reflection. “We’ve been through this already, I have no desire to marry or have children. I would rather stand in the culling pits of the temple a hundred times over than cook for a man and coddle his fat milk smelling babe.”
Mother and Father married to avoid the culling. I’m a reminder of that and my words only anger her further. She pulls her hand back in a moment of fury, staring me down in the mirror with a silent threat to bring the brush down on me once more.
I only cross my arms and let out a defiant snort. “Beat me to death if it pleases you to kill me rather than to let the Moonbane take me. It was through you I’ve come, if anyone has the right, it’s you. But I will not concede on these matters.”
The arm wielding the brush defeatedly falls to her side. “Are those beastly Moonbane really better than a husband and a child? I know you’ve heard the rumors about what happens to the culled. You could end up a slave. Or realms forbid, eaten if the more sinister gossip is true.”
I lift my shoulders in an abysmal shrug. “I shall take my chances. It’s all just rumors anyways, no one really knows what happens to the culled.“
“Do you truly despise children so much?” Her voice cracks with a new kind of sadness, sharp and crystalline.
“Of course not!” My head falls and I wring my hands in my lap. “I find them to be quite heart warming. I’ve been teaching some younglings from over the ridge about fishing the creek and growing cinder squash. And Ren and Kaia’s new little one is a joy. I often visit to help Kaia with house chores and play with the babe.”
“So? What is it then?”
“Not every woman needs to birth children. It is infuriating that the council thinks so!”
Mother huffs. “Don’t let any of them hear you say such things. They may sight you for blasphemy.”
“Psssshhhh! Ha! Are my rebellious spirits and refusal to wed and bed not blasphemy enough? Is standing in the pits alongside the other undesirables and spinsters not already punishment? If they had the gall they would have sighted me during the first culling! Or for every evil eye I’ve thrown their way! I’ll make it through the last and spit in their faces for causing my poor mother such distress!”
Usually she’d scold me, calls me ‘stubbornly defiant’, but today she doesn’t. “Please, Eveline, don’t start.” Mother pinches the bridge of her nose and gives me a look of quiet exasperation.
I lower my voice, “I know this is always a stressful day for you, but if there are not those like me who stand up to the culling, then the barbaric tradition will never end. And the councils will keep using it as a weapon to coerce men and women into copulating and creating children they do not want.”
She tsk’s with a stern eye leveled on me. “Perhaps that may be so, but the Moonbane would still demand their tributes. It is the price they’ve set for keeping the Waste at bay.”
“The damned Waste!” I throw a fist to the sky and silently curse old gods long dead. “And damn those Moonbane and their magics,”
“Eveline!” Mother scolds.
“I still have to think on how to cure the Waste.” Says the farmer’s daughter from nowhere as if the responsibility of saving the world fell on her shoulders. I internally huff at my own gall.
“Besides,” I add in afterthought, “if I chose a partner and had a child, we would be reassigned to a house in another area. I’d only get to visit home every ten years or so.” I twist in the chair so mother and I are face to face. “This way I get to stay with you and father forever.”
She lets out a small laugh and once more begins to run the brush through my hair. “Now I like how that sounds.”
Father is tall and light haired with tawny skin freckled in sunspots from the years spent under the sun. We have the same face; deepset eyes with a cynical tilt and full lips. I’ve heard women in the village comment about how handsome he is.
He’s already waiting at the gate as we exit the house. I watch as he looks me up and down and a smirk appears on his face. Before he has the opportunity to make fun of me like he does every year, mother is snapping at him.
“Great Realms, Lane. You couldn’t even change out of your old dirty tillin’ trousers? You’re filthy.”
“Well damn, Adeline. I had to work twice as hard today, cause you had my helper all holed up inside. Getting her ready for a pageant. I didn’t have time.” He throws an elbow and I’m catching it in the rib before I can dodge.
Mother snorts and stomps past, out the gate and toward the temple.
I rub my side and father watches her go with a sigh and a familiar smile. When I was younger, I used to think it was quiet affection. The older I get the more I see a depressive complacency.
I don’t think my mother had ever loved him or even enjoyed his presence. They were assigned here from a desolate village in Area Thirty-Nine. My entire life I’d barely seen them speak to each other for more than a couple minutes at a time.
He turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “Did you have fun playing dress up?” He teases and we both proceed after mother.
I shake my head. “Mother always insists.” Some dress well. Mostly the family of highborns who’ve offered their kin for generations. But there were some lowborns like myself, who always don their best tunics and dresses for the culling. I think of it as dressing for an impromptu funeral. I don’t say that out loud though.
Father tuts. “How are you feeling?”
Mother is walking ahead of us, still upset. I drop my voice so she does not hear me. “These things always frighten me. Each year has felt like entering my name in a drawing to be flung off a cliff.” I dryly joke.
“Your name won’t be drawn.” He says in stubborn affirmation.
“My name won’t be drawn.” I repeat back to him with a nod and a smile. He’s the one who has ingrained the saying into my dialogue.
Our temple is an old one with crumbling tan stone walls and effigies left to decay. It was built long ago when an ancient god was once worshiped. Now it’s walls are utilized by the only gods humans have known for centuries; the Moonbane.
We’re already at the line where culling participants and spectators are separating from one another. To the right, families shuffle towards the seating area, and to the left, those entering the culling make their way for the pit.
The air is dry. It’s always dry close to the Waste, but on this particular day every year it holds a self aware sorrow that leaves me parched and my tongue tacky and swollen.
Mother grabs hold of my arm and we step off to the side. Other families have done the same. They’re giving each other hugs and parting words.
She picks at my dress and fusses with my hair. I let her without objection. It’s her own way of crying and clinging to me like so many terrified mothers do with their own children nearby. “You look beautiful.” She finally comments and steps back. Her eyes lightly mist.
I’ve never cared whether or not I was physically appealing. It seemed so arbitrary and unimportant in our rotten world. But Mother does. “You chose a beautiful dress.” It’s the only time I ever dress in such effeminate clothing and for as much as she dreads it, she loves picking out a dress and doing my hair and make up. I know she would have adored a more feminine daughter than I.
“A fine dress indeed.” Father steps forward and smiles between the two of us.
Mother nods with a smile turning to pursed lips. Not a happy smile but she likes the compliment all the same.
From an ill supported and skeletal tower a bell tolls, signaling that the culling will start soon.
The somber line picks up its pace and a woman sobs out as she gives her son a final hug. He’s gangly and large toothed and I can tell by the way he trembles this is his first culling.
Each year there have been more new faces than old as earlier participants race to find partners. The only others I recognize are that of a man named Krispin, who has always been a bit different in thought, and a woman named Ari. She sits in a wheelchair, and stares bleakly ahead as her father and mother speak in low tones. This is her last year and I hope she makes it through. Krispin, like me, will have one more round of participation.
My mother sniffles, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
I wipe it away and repeat my affirmation. “My name won’t be drawn.”
My father kindly pats her on the back. “She’ll be back at home tilling up soil within the hour.”
Mothers quick ability to criticize father does not fail her in the emotional moment and she complains, “You work her too hard. She’s already covered in muscle.”
Father squeezes my bicep. “ I’ve been working on replacing the ox. Then we won’t have to spend all the extra coin on feed.”
Mother just rolls her eyes. She turns to me and wraps her arms around me. I’m taller than she is and I bend my knees and crouch down so she can rest her cheek on the top of my head. For a moment I’m a child again in her warm embrace and then she backs away as a few stray tears leak from her.
I straighten up and look at my father. He pulls me in for a hug. It’s the only time he does but it’s always just as pleasant as Mothers.
I feel loved as they both give me one last once over.
“Let’s hurry up and get this done with. We still have a lot of work to do.” He says.
“There is always work to be done.” My light laugh trails off into a bough of stringy silence.
The final bell tolls and now it is only stragglers and late comers who surge forward in hurry.
“I love you.” I say.
They parrot me and then we are separating.
Without my mothers presence, unease comes crashing into me.
“My name won’t be drawn.” I whisper to myself as I tread toward the pit.
It’s a couple of flights down a set of stairs into the bottom level of the temple. Eileen, an old woman with a frown aged into her face watches as I approach last. “I knew you’d show up again. You have fire in that blood and nerves of steel, girl.” She stamps papers and marks off a checklist.
Most like me, fertile and not half bad on the eyes, typically bow out sooner or avoid the culling all together.
She hands me a piece of parchment with an ornate outline. I see colorful bits of magic travel its edges and I write my name in the middle. The borders flare up and flash and I know I’m officially entered into the culling.
Despite the mean look of her she gives me a lopsided grin. Eileen is one of the few individuals who went through every culling trial without taking a partner out of fear. I have a deep respect for her.
“I hope I see you next year.”
I nod. “Me too.”
Next year will be the last year I’m required to enter. A deep breath shutters my chest. From twenty-one to twenty-nine the unwed and childless must enter. Seven of these I’ve done so far. All I have left is two more cullings, one more year. I just need to make it through today and then one more anxiety inducing day a year from now and I’ll be free.
I make my way into the pit last. There are seats arranged in a few rows. This year there are significantly less participants than last year. Newer generations are more fearful than ever and arranged marriages are becoming more popular even among lowborns.
I see a few familiar faces. We offer each other small nods but otherwise remain wordless.
The temple is lit with glowing lanterns hanging from poles and fastened against the sides of the stone benches. In front of me faces of the villagers watch from tiered seating. I spot my mother and father who have taken places next to Kaia and Ren. I can see that Kaia has her baby swaddled tightly against her chest as the little one peacefully slumbers.
Above them the council is seated in a shaded tent. I glare into its depths, hoping they see me as I cross my arms.
The bells of the tower chime in echoing succession signaling the start of the event.
A councilman steps forward from the tent, his shoulder length hair is slicked back and the air of austerity on his face is the same as it always is. His name is Selven, and he’s the kind of man who believes a woman’s place is in the home. He hates how I work the fields with my father. And he hates that I gave his son a black eye one summer when the twat got too handsy in the ale house. And he hates all the more how his precious boy came looking for round two with his dick in his hand and a blooming perversion with getting his ass handed to him by me. One of which I happily obliged.
Our gazes clash for a moment. I smirk at the old bastard and watch in satisfaction as a brief flash of rage flies across his eyes and his jaw ticks. Then the crowd’s attention draws from him to the center of the pit. Any idle chatter ceases as goosebumps rise over my skin.
The Moonbane’s aura washes over everything as he approaches from behind, passing participants until he is standing at a podium that faces the crowd.
Selven joins his side, two heads smaller.
Silence so unsettling it’s loud sweeps over the temple as a masculine voice slithers out across the crowd
“Welcome to the nine-hundred-seventieth culling.” His voice is projected yet smooth and airy like a whisper. It’s a voice that rides invisible winds and I find it instilling a sense of dread inside of me.
There is no way to describe the Moonbane as other than beastly. Sprouting horns, feathers, tails, fur, and claws, their appearances vary from individual to individual but all maintain an animalistic theme. Each year they send a new host and so far I have seen no two who look alike. This one has long white hair with feathers layered in its glossy strands. His eyes are predatory, ruby red and crested in thick feathery lashes. They watch the crowd with a raptor like steadiness. Individuals shift and shy away as his gaze sweeps over them.
Hands with thick black talons come up to rest on the edges of the podium. “It is a great honor to be here in service to the balance between our people. For centuries now the Moonbane have held the Waste at bay so that humanity may flourish. In exchange you have provided us with those capable of such a trade. The unmarried and childless, those who do not contribute to the procreation of their people. And we are grateful to you and to these individuals,” one taloned hand gestures to those of us seated in the pit, “for their participation and sacrifice.”
Sacrifice. I’ve heard varying degrees of the short speech multiple times, yet the word brings about a renewed sense of dread. I gulp. My name won’t be drawn. I repeat my mantra to myself.
I hear a sizzling whirl and I don’t have to turn to know that a mirage has been manifested behind me. I can hear the hum of the magic that holds it together. On its surface another Moonbane stands before a silver tray with a single sheet of parchment on it. Its similar to the one I write my name on and will reveal the names of the chosen.
“Let us begin.” There is no theatrics from the feathered pale creature with the frightening voice and I’m grateful for that.
I clasp my hands in my lap and stare ahead. The glow from the mirage strobes across the crowd as the first name is revealed on the paper.
“Area Thirty, Uran Trimarii.” The Moonbane repeats the name of the culled.
After a moment another name is drawn, the Moonbane reads it out.
It’s usually fifty names in total, and it has been more than twelve years since a name from area five has been drawn but I count down as each is spoken regardless. My heart pounds in my chest and blood whooshes through my ears. It only gets worse as more and more names fill the list.
At thirty-one I’ve broken into a sweat and I’m fighting a switch in my leg. I have my thumb pressed into a finger, ready to tick off number thirty-two.
“Area Thirteen, Seline Durma.”
A breath escapes me. Anticipation has me holding the next inhale all over again. My thumbnail digs into my next finger.
“Area Five, Eveline Emronn.”
Thirty-three. My nail slices through skin. I don’t feel a thing as my blood freezes in my body.
A collective gasp comes from the crowd and the air turns uncomfortable in my lungs, choked in and refusing to leave me.
My mother screams.
