Chapter 44 - 44: Anor Ligrisia
A week later, the remnants of the Priests had made it to the city. More than that, they had taken the city. Ashburn drove a pole into the stone at the foot of the city, carrying the black banner of the Fated King, his jagged-triskelion inscribed on its surface in yellow.
The battles they faced had been long and gruesome, but with Eshents' wit, and his General's actions, they had finally made it.
Anor Ligrisia stood tall in front of them.
Hundreds of Reapers littered the streets, blood spilled onto the marble steps that led up to the center square. Arches lined the square, supporting the large fountain-like structure in the center. Many had fallen in the midst of battle, but many had crumbled to age long ago.
Once Eshent had drawn out the faith of the Priests, the battles ahead became menial work. Their Lord had called for reinforcements from the Blackbaast and the Surface World, and so they were never short of soldiers for their war.
And Eshent didn't necessarily think the war over, but it did not matter. As of that day, their objective had been fulfilled. They had gained control over the City of Gold, Anor Ligrisia.
A second sun, apart from the one that rose in the plains and set in Shadowhaunt, was set in the highest tower of Anor Ligrisia, casting the entire city in radiance. Each marble tower, arch, and pillar glistened, it looked as if they had arrived in some sort of heaven, some incomprehensible afterlife.
The sight was just far too otherworldly, even considering their circumstances. Underneath the bright light, flora thrived. Blooming carpets spread throughout the city, and weaves of vines and ivy crawled up the surfaces of buildings, sprouting fantastical iridescent fruits that called out to each Priest that stepped throughout the city.
But they didn't have much time to be enthralled, not for the time being.
The Reaper Corpses would soon move. They had discovered that the brain was far-too complicated to be renewed so quickly, just like their other body parts. Their Lord had to pay particular focus to this, which gave them time to move the corpses elsewhere before they became too hard to deal with.
Eshent had commanded Farsa to oversee this endeavour.
After all, the flames had become their greatest weakness.
He had made sure that all Reapers feared the flames of war.
There were still many parts of the Golden city where battle raged on. But it really did not matter, they would soon be quelled, and the Reapers would go where all others had, wherever Farsa had seen fit to imprison them within eternal flame.
Eshent glanced up at the fortress-like structure in the center of the Golden City. The visions he had been shown by the Lord flashed through his mind. He saw the Lord cloaked in Yellow, His pitch-black tentacles writhing around him. He saw his own corpse lying in a puddle of crimson, he saw the familiar face of his Punisher, the Witch-King.
"This... this is the place where I'll die..."
Eshent grimaced, shaking the thought out of his head.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
He had no clue when such a thing would occur. If it wasn't today, there was still a good chance he could achieve his goals.
He just had to make it through today.
He gestured toward his two generals and adviser, Ashburn, Eisel, and Granos.
"Come, we're going to find that kid."
Throughout the last week, he had heard the cries of failure echoing from the mouth of Reapers. The failure that perched on defense of the child of the Red Prince.
If he really was in the city, then taking Anor Ligrisia wouldn't just have been about gaining a contact point for the Lord's grand ritual.
They would have earned themselves the greatest hostage one could ever take.
The Son of God.
There was a grand staircase leading up to the main palace. There were onyx swirls set into the marble, there was a distinct craftsmanship to every part of the city, as if it was more a work of art than anything else. Was the Southern Region on the surface world quite similar to this? Did they value regalia over practicality?
There were several Reapers standing guard at the front of the palace. As they spotted the approaching Priests, they rushed forward.
"Kill them." Eshent spoke casually, letting out a sigh as he began to adjust his collar. Swords whisked past his head, blocked by the blades of his Generals as he continued walking past the Reapers, who were quickly taken out behind him.
Eshent waited patiently as the behemoth clad in onyx armour stepped forward, pushing open the doors of the massive gate so that they might proceed into the palace.
He let out a wry chuckle as he stepped into the large hall. At the end of the room, there was a large golden throne, and atop it, a small boy with a head of bright-red hair.
It was clear who this figure was.
"You're the son of the Red Prince, aren't you?" Eshent spoke calmly towards the boy as he approached. "We've come to make your acquaintance, little Lord."
The boy casually folded his legs, placing his hands in his lap as he smiled genially. He looked... truly royal, like a prince should. In comparison, Eshent was covered in dirt and blood, his hair a mess, matted and dirty. He looked nothing like a nobleman should.
But he did not respond.
"What should I call you?" Eshent asked curiously, smiling towards the boy.
He fidgeted a bit atop the giant throne before responding.
"I'll tell you my name next we meet."
His voice was slightly hollow, but ethereal, like the night sky. He had no sense of joy or despair about him, he seemed empty.
"Next time we meet? Little Lord, I'm sure you've gathered this, but we can't let you leave. It's quite dangerous outside." Eshent chuckled, confused.
"You know, this isn't something that ends well for you, Eshent Summerrich." The little boy smiled coyly.
Eshent's brows furrowed. He knows my name... is this something his father told him? That Red Prince...
Darkness flashed through the throne room, an eerie chill wafting over Eshent and the Priests. For a moment, it felt like the sun that set in the center of the city had burnt out completely, casting the City of Gold in shadow.
Shadows stirred, and Eshent whipped his head around towards whatever he felt staring at him in the darkness.
But nothing happened.
When the light renewed itself, the little boy that had been sitting on the throne had disappeared completely.
On the back wall of the throne room, a symbol etched in radiant silver light had been drawn. A strange rune resembled an upside-down crook with many embellishments sat lonely on its surface. As Eshent stared at the rune, his body trembled. He felt as if his soul had been caught in its eerie enthrallment, he couldn't bear to move.
He felt as if he was looking towards the end. The end of all things, the finality.
He felt as if there was no need to move in the face of it, that everything would soon be over.
Eshent was suddenly shaken out of his stupor by Ashburn, the blood-soaked gauntlet resting on his shoulder.
"Visionary... okay?"
Eshent glanced up towards Ashburn, and then back towards the wall. The symbol that had once plastered its surface was now gone.
"Ah... yes..." Eshent responded hollowly. His heart had begun to beat much faster, pounding against his chest as if trying to flee. "My apologies..."
What the hell is going on? Is this the power of the Son of God?
Eshent reached into his cloak pocket, his fingers brushing against the rough surface of the Lord's doctrine, feeling that familiar sense of calm washing over him. He let out a heavy sigh, stepping forward towards where the child had once been.
"Did you all see Him too?"
Eisel and Ashburn exchanged glances, then looking towards Granos, who similarly shook his head.
"Saw who, little Visionary?" Eisel asked, raising an eyebrow in worry. "You just stood there for a time, staring at the throne..."
Eshent shook his head. "I see. No matter."
Did I mishear? Was there really not a child here? Was I hallucinating, or was this a trick of the Red Prince? Perhaps he had rescued his child long before, but abandoned his soldiers... then it makes sense that this figure knew my name. But what was that symbol? I've never seen anything like it...
He turned to face his Generals, sitting down slowly on the golden throne at the head of the hall. He placed the sole of his foot on the seat, the other hanging off of the throne, as he leaned his head on his hand.
It doesn't matter right now. We're finally here. It's time.
He adopted a cold gaze, frowning. He looked towards Ashburn, to Eisel, and then to Granos. At the same time, he looked at Farsa, who had just entered the hall after finishing her duties. A slight smile curled up at the edges of his lips.
"Now, shall we go to Henem?"