Chapter 1
His view returned from the blackness. What fate is worse than death, Bali? Father’s words woke him again. One could only imagine the lances of agony Mahabali felt as the spear pulled out of his back. He roared, weaker than he’d liked to, he felt it tear through lung and kidney. He jabbed his sword behind his ribs. Hoping to catch any of the brave bastards who’d jumped him from behind. His attempt was met with more steel. His roar turned to cry. And as Bali’s face hit the mud, his lower lip quivered.
It had rained that morning, soldiers had trampled the grass. Littered it with wet ash and blood.
No… no this cannot be how I die. “Damn… it!” croaked Bali. Not even the soldiers that had suddenly found his rear now deemed him worthy of a merciful and above all quick death. A boot found his side. Kicking him in his very much still intact second kidney. Drawing another croak.
This was not how it was supposed to end. Though Bali had long since forgotten how his end was prophesized—for that, simply too much had happened. Too much buried away. Now he would join those memories. Join them in the grave of little consequence. Bali tried to move his arm. His leg. He tried to turn his head, to follow those who’d slain him. To remember their faces, their colors. For that off-chance a breath deep enough would lift him back on his feet. Materialize that sword back in his hands. To tear his enemies apart limb from limb. “H-h-hey! Come back, finish this, you bastards—BASTARDS!” Bali wheezed.
But he was left alone. And only now it struck him, the colors of their garbs. Red and silver. Inquisition colors. Bali’s gaze turned outward. To a fallen buckler, brandishing the imperial Condors. Flying around a golden sun. The Golden Dominion. Killed by… the fucking Empire… The thought came bitter. Had he any strength left he’d scream again. Until blood spit along with saliva. Until his throat would vibrate and his eyes would turn gold. But nothing. With his last strength, Bali turned to his back, feeling his lung and kidney scream back at him as blood and horseshit seeped into the open wounds. His head lolled. Finding a set of eyes most familiar. Most hated..
He just lay there. That pathetic little man who started all of this. Who led, who made him follow. Had made him forget that—even for a second—freedom was not a faraway destination. That the most precious things in life lay not in power, but in piss-tasting ale, shared among a warm fire with companions who spoke your tongue. Whose banners turned rags, fit only for wiping away the streaks of the morning constitution.
“F-fuck… fuck you…” Bali moaned. He lay there. A fighter, a mirror to his own pain. His hand clawed up his chest. Gasping. He hadn’t noticed Bali yet. Then again, when had he ever noticed anyone besides himself? When had he ever had a thought of his own yet and not use it to lead sodden men to their deaths. This—all of this— was his doing. His plan.
His fucking fault!
Bali followed his other hand, pressing down on his gut, then felt a similar sting. When… how? A dagger still stuck out. Bali managed to tilt his head just enough to see. He’d been stabbed too. Enough times. Yet the blood pooling in his left lung had stolen his attention. Funny how that works. Then he heard. A cough that could just as well be a cry. A tear that could just as well be sweat, or piss for all Bali cared. He quickly checked with the arm that still worked. Dying in shit was one thing. Shitting oneself while dying a whole other.
“H-help… help. C-come to me, p-please. Brother…”
Bali’s eyes turned to slits. “Brother? You dare to call me—”
“—Please… one last time… once more. We—we can’t die here. They… they can’t,” the voice came louder now.
Bali felt bile rise to his throat. A welcome offset to the blood that had coated his tongue for minutes now. His breath rattled through his one good lung. His chest spurting out blood as his heart pumped the unfiltered rage away. Words wanted to form, yet stayed locked in his head as thought.
How dare he? After all of this. After everything. Bali’s breath reached a crescendo of agony. He turned himself on his ruined half. His eyes now wide. Staring fire at that pathetic creature. That slimy, cowardly bastard! I should cut him down where he lay.
“P-please, brother. I’ll let you… even let you… eat them. All of them. But we can’t let them… die, p-please.”
“I should eat you first!” Bali snarled.
“P-please…” then he turned, with equal effort. His other arm stretched. Bali did not know whether to take or to bite it. “M-my friend? You know… what happens if we stop… here… now.”
Then, with one last push, Bali’s eyes took a golden shine. He screamed in a voice that wasn’t his. Wasn’t that coward either. However, it was enough to stop the soldiers from stepping over them. It was enough to make them step back in fear. What fate was worse than death? I wish I’d remember… funny how that works, Bali thought. He let the hunger wash over him and then the world went black again.
