CHAPTER 146

  BROKEN IDENTITY

  Hans had just finished looking up at the sky, lying on his back. His strength, after strenuous work, had returned. His missile bombardment experiment had succeeded only once.

  And in doing so, a month had stolen away in the process. The luxury of waiting was over, not only for him but for Xandor too.

  He leaned forward, fingers brushing the surface of the eclipse medallion. Its faint glow pulsed like a heartbeat in the dim hush of his hands. He closed his eyes, tasting the stale air of impatience.

  “You’re desperate now, Xandor,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  There was a long pause before he responded to the call—cool, measured. A voice that had no hint of desperation.

  His face twisted, hair bleached to blond.

  “You’ve made your decision. Commander Xandor?” He asked, turning into Theodred. Someone who knew he was above the other party.

  “Hmm..” Xandor hummed. “Do you have no work ethics, Atelier?”

  Theodred’s laugh was soft as a sigh, threaded with something darker. “A criminal lecturing on ethics. The irony amuses me. What a world we live in, right, Commander?”

  “Cut the nonsense and send me the rendezvous,” Xandor responded, pressing the medallion until he could feel the strain under his fingertips, as if holding a fragile promise.

  His people were tired from running and facing red demons, population that had no end. He grunted. “Tell me now?”

  “You did bring what I want?” Hans asked almost nonchalant. “ I want it upfront.”

  Xandor met the question with cool defiance. “We never agreed to that, Rank Eight. You know that’s a bad deal for me. Who knows when I get ditched …and I don’t like getting ditched!”

  “Yes.” Hans paused the conversation was personal but he didn’t press on that, continued on what he was insisting, “we did agree on the exchange when we have Anfaleen’s head. But to do so, I will need the Rebellion sword. Its a deadlock and you have the key to break it. Your call, commander.”

  Xandor grunted again and nodded slowly. “Not until we breach the shield, if you are capable. We will see our transaction proceed.”

  Theodred nodded. “You did not bring the undead king—”

  “I did not. Stop wasting time and meet me.”

  “Very well. But you must find me. You understand? I have my own little army for this—your part is to play the Parvian squad, ordered by Imperials. It must look real. This is my show, and you must remain in character.”

  Xandor’s voice tightened. “Who’s behind you in all this? The Prince of Parv? Or Arat? Your motives are as veiled as your identity.”

  Hans’s voice held a faint amusement. “Keep fishing, you might hit the mark in your next try. But even without knowing who I am or whom I work for, you’ll do what I say. Don’t you, Commander Xandor?”

  Xandor’s tune changed in an instant.

  “My purpose in slaying Anfaleen is not the same you offered me, Atelier.” His voice was gruff. He added, stressing, “A puzzle, a piece that I want. That bastard has it, that’s all. The sword rebellion… has no meaning compared to that.”

  Theodred paused a bit and that pause stretched thin. It seemed way too effortless that his plan was working as he desired, not knowing Xandor had his own angle in it.

  Keeping the pretence, he hummed, then asked in a voice that weighed every word: “And what is it you desire? You don’t have to tell me—”

  “Sure. Just as you want rebellion. I want something he cherishes. That rat had been holed up in the council node, knowing no one could breach it.”

  “I still don’t understand what you want, commander.”

  Xandor lifted his head, fixed on the shadowed corners of their hideout. “Not his seat, not his node. His corpse.”

  Silence, thick and loaded.

  This would give Xandor another warlock as an undead. But that wasn’t what was more worrisome.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “A recently deceased person can be manipulated into spilling his life’s secrets.” Hans said eventually, as though testing the weight of the phrase. “You want his research?”

  “Clever,” Xandor replied.

  “I heard you both were sort of rivals. Both dwelling in resurrection and death—”

  “We both loved resurrection, in our own way. But don’t lump me with a disgusting bastard like him.”

  “Wow, when a terrorist shows disgust to you. That means you are another level shit.”

  Xandor squeezed the medallion. “Stop your mumbling. Now send me your location, I’ll dance to your tunes until we settle the Anfaleen matter.”

  “Fine by me.” A moment later, Hans ended the transmission, breathed out, and clicked a side of the medallion. “Come find me. The other party is waiting.”

  He turned back, his face going green.

  “Time to earn some stones.”

  The forest shuddered once more as he turned to elderwood and began to roam again.

  Days passed in work and blood. Hans crawled through familiar territory, slaughtering his way back to the crash site he recognised. When he emerged, he looked at the clearing with reluctant recognition.

  “That’s the place I crashed? Its still intact?” He doubted and after a few more confirmations. He turned back to Theodred and contacted Xandor once more.

  “I’ve reached. How far are you?”

  “Will make in a day or two. Can’t be not cautious when the younger generation thinks they could manipulate the old ones.”

  “Whatever. I’ll pick the rest.” He cut off the transmission and buried the medallion. “This will be the rendezvous point.”After a brief walk, his Lumen gaze started seeing the physical fluctuation.

  “I am here, but how do I get them to open this? They don’t know Theodred yet.” Inhaling hard, he said to himself. “Let’s start this drama.”

  He raised his voice, letting it echo across the hidden village. “Open it. I come on behalf of Prince Hans Parv.”

  The only thing he had related to Parv was the imperial white robe he carried. He pulled it out and flashed—a silent proof. “Parv sent me. Another army follows.”

  He paused, letting the lie settle, then continued, “Mr. Zilong—show yourself.”

  The air warped then.

  A veil of dwarven magic unfurled. And then he saw him: towering, monstrous, regal. Eight feet of distorted strength.

  “You are as ugly as he said,” Hans said lightly, but his words were a sharpened blade. Enough to validate the ruse.

  Zilong snorted. “A robe doesn’t prove allegiance.”

  Hans smiled, taut. “I don’t need it to. My task is to destroy the Council node—and to bring you home.”

  Zilong regarded him quietly. “Bold for someone so… small.”

  “This small man ranks eighth in the world,” Hans said, meeting his gaze. “And yes—Prince Hans sent me.”

  Zilong’s eyes flickered, curious. “Tell me, little man, what did I give him last time?”

  Hans inhaled, steady. “A scale. And a promise—he wouldn’t mention you. Especially not to your blood.”

  The giant laughed, low and horrifying. He bent close, as if smelling treachery. “Then he must not fully trust me.”

  “He trusts the end more than the means,” Hans said softly, trying hard to sell the story. “He said for you people to live. That this node must die. That whoever backs Anfaleen must be blamed.”

  “Something very powerful backs him, boy.”

  “That is the case for you too. The last true Parvian. He has your back. What is there to be afraid of?”

  “As cocky as a Parvian…” Zilong burst out in a horrifying laugh. He bent further. His eyes gazing deep into Theodred. “Do you think wearing an elf skin will keep you hidden, Hans Parv?”

  “Damn it.” Hans’ breath caught. “You can see more than faces.”

  Zilong’s grin went crooked. “When you’ve been worshipped as a god, appearances don’t fool you. I can smell your soul. Yours is something unforgettable.”

  “Fuck it.” Hans nodded. “It’s easier now. I brought Eclipse. They are very adamant in destroying Anfaleen. This is our chance. Whoever is backing him…after we are done. Parv will carry on the weight. You’ll be all free.”

  For a moment, Zilong was silent. Then he said: “And what of you? You hide yourself. Why?”

  Hans paused, gazing deep.

  “A secret must be kept well, Mr Zilong. Let it be.” He exhaled, declaring, “Your treatment must be delayed. You said if people know what happened to you, they will be in danger. I say, we make it so big that everyone in the world knows of it. They can’t kill everyone.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, boy. I had two years to contemplate. If I remain stagnant, I’ll be doing them a favour. I want to rip their hearts out and Anfaleen will get a little special treatment.”

  “Then that’s what we will do. And.” Hans paused, “it’s evident that I don’t want others to know my true form.”

  “Whatever you are scheming, good luck. Just get this thing done.”

  “With pleasure.” Hans nodded. “Let’s head in. How many want to fight in this?”

  “A lot.” Zilong, with half a red demon commander’s body. Treaded beside him. “As I’ve mentioned in the past. Most of us were the warriors who participated in the red demon trials. Unfortunate enough to fall into Anfaleen’s trap but fortunate enough to get a chance to bite back.”

  “Yes. But this doesn’t worry you right now?” Hans read the horrendous face.

  Zilong nodded. “What are the arrangements after this fiasco with Anfaleen’s over?”

  “I could send you all as refugees to Parv or any other place you lot wish.”

  “Parv seems decent and protective enough.” He opened another veil. “Let’s introduce yourself to others. What did you call this?” Zilong pointed to his elf persona.

  “Theodred Atelier.”

  “Cheeky name.” He whispered.

  “Works most of the time.”

  Ignoring his smug remark, Zilong shouted, his voice reverbing, “Its time. All of you—gather.”