This is the first chapter of m novel Soulless Ones. It is still being worked on, so it is due to change. Take a look and tell me what you think.
Creed listened to the wind wail through the city streets, mournful and broken. He wiped a drop of blood from the tip of his nose and leaned against a low wall within Manecor. The once great city sat nestled atop a large hill, now throwing sheets of black smoke into the air. He glanced up at the fires as they consumed the buildings unchallenged. Men rushed through the broken walls, carrying treasures and corpses alike. The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils.
Bodies littered the broken streets, their blood seeping into the ground to mix with the rain. Creed watched as a band of children were marched out the gaping hole in the wall, soldiers dealing out savage blows to keep them moving. He looked beyond them, barely able to make out the siege equipment sitting several hundred yards away. Their operators mulled about, dark-faced and grim. The battle had been a long and bloody affair. Breaching the city walls had cost the Nazean army many lives, but Creed knew it was a price well paid.
He pushed away from the wall and stood to attention as Oslus, his commander, strode towards the battered doors of the town’s church. Mancor’s soldiers had defended those doors to the last man, and with good reason. Beyond the splintered wood and damaged stone were the remaining women and children of the city. There had been no time for them to escape, and now they were trapped within their own sanctuary.
Creed watched enraptured as Oslus approached the battered door and laid his palm upon the charred wood. The cinders hissed under his bloody hand, popping and snapping in protest. Oslus pulled away and turned towards his men, flicking dark hair from his face. A thin, cruel smile slithered across his lips.
Creed caught his breath as his commander paced in front of them, eyeing his soldiers up and down. Oslus was a man with a heart of stone and a will of iron. There was nothing he could not do. He had destroyed cities, stormed castles, and even toppled nations without defeat. Now he could add one more notch to his belt of victories.
Creed had joined the army under Oslus’s instruction. He had found Creed rotting in a prison, not more than a common criminal. The commander had said that he possessed great potential and had taken him from his dark cell. Creed had taken this action to heart and done all he could to serve Oslus. He now stood at complete attention as men began to gather around their commander.
A gust of wind tore through the street, billowing Oslus’s cloak out behind him. Thunder rolled down from above, shaking the stones of the church and adding to the screams. Olsus stopped before Creed, looking down upon him.
“I need volunteers to raid the last building before us. The rest of you can return to camp.” Oslus’s voice was like a clash of thunder as it echoed out over the group of soldiers. The wind howled with rage, throwing another sheet of rain into the eyes of the onlookers. “This city has yielded slaves a plenty. No more are to be taken and not quarters given. So, who will come with me to eradicate the filth from this city? These barbarians, these animals, are all that stand between us and victory. Who is willing to finish this?”
A heavy groan of protest rumbled up from the soldiers as they leaned upon each other for support. The battle had been long indeed. Creed stepped forward, pushing his way through the group of men that surrounded him. Oslus nodded and watched the young man come to his side. “I knew I could count on you, Creed.” He put his hand on the other’s shoulder and gave it a rough squeeze. The two of them looked at the group of men, waiting.
Oslus face turned dark and he glared down upon his soldiers with disdain. “Cowards! A boy has come forth with more courage than you! I never thought I would see the day when my men were more afraid than a child!” The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Finally three more men broke away from the group. With great reluctance they took up posts on either side of Creed.
Oslus grunted. “Fine, I have my champions. The rest of you, head back to camp and get your gear cleaned and repaired. I want everything back into fighting shape by the time I return.”
Creed stared at Oslus as the platoon turned to leave the city. His face looked like the storm that raged about him. Most view him as a stern and hard commander, but Creed saw the efficiency in his choices. Each command he made was carefully planned and had some strategic benefit. Nothing was put to waste.
“Damn cowards,” Oslus muttered. “There will be hell to pay when I get back.” He wiped blood and rain from his eyes and took a breath. “Well.” He pulled his sword clear of its sheath with a dull ring and turned toward the splintered door. “Let’s finish this.”
With one swift kick, Oslus knocked the door in and vanished into the building. Almost instantly, screams flowed through the door. Creed drew his sword and followed Oslus in. The other three glanced at each other, uncertain of their choice to stay. Creed chuckled to himself. He would outrank them in no time.
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The last screams died in Creed’s ear and he leaned heavily on his sword. He was covered in blood from head to foot, the crimson liquid dripping freely from his hands and armor. He spat as it ran into his mouth, the metallic taste coating his tongue. The bodies of those he had slain lay at his feet, twisted and broken. Empty faces looked to the ceiling, their eyes hollow and unseeing. Limbs lay scattered about, each body pierced with deep, bloody gashes. A few elderly women slumped against the stone wall, their skulls split apart. Creed had enjoyed killing them, bashing their heads against the stone until the wall turned red with their blood and they stopped moving. He watched the blood run down his arm to drip from his fingers, fascinated by the way it pooled on his armor.
Within the first few moments of the bloodshed the other three men had fled from the building, cursing as they ran. Only Oslus and he had stayed to see the job done. Not much of a surprise. Most of the men in the Nazean army were drafted, simple farmers or tradesmen who had families and valued their lives back home. Creed had come into the army with nothing and no one. Before he had not purpose, now the Nazean gave him one.
A quite sob broke the room’s silence, scattering Creed’s thoughts. He scanned the room, searching for the source of the sound. He searched the piles of mutilated bodies that lay about the floor, their blood coating the walls. His eyes finally settled on a large basket in the corner. A young girl sat hidden behind it, trying her best to remain silent. Creed strode over to the basket and smashed it aside. The girl jumped with fright, tears streaming down her face. She was no older than five, her face covered in dirt and her red hair in tangles.
Creed smiled, warm and cruel. “Hush,” he soothed. “Don’t be frightened. Come here.”
He held out his hand for the young child. She looked at him as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Slowly, she reached up and took his hand. Her dress was torn and tattered, her feet cut and bloodied. Creed led her out into the center of the room and turned her towards the door. He looked up and found Oslus standing in the doorway staring at him, blood dripping from his own hands. Creed sighed and pulled the girl close to him. He stabbed his sword into a body and knelt down facing the child. A tender look plastered to his face, but the child could see past his disguise. She saw the cruelty and death that lingered within his eyes.
“Oh, ssh,” Creed whispered. He put his hand on the girl’s back and pulled her close, slamming a knife deep into her chest. The girl let out a quick squeal as the blade pierced her heart.
Creed pursed his lips and nodded to Oslus. He let the child fall from his arms, the body landing among the other corpses. Oslus took a deep breath. “You’ve done well, Creed. I always knew you would make a great soldier.” Creed mumbled his thanks and pulled his sword from the corpse. The entire building was eerily quiet. Even the wind without had become still. “Wait for me outside,” Oslus grunted. “I have something I must do, and then we can talk about your future.”
Creed made his way out of the building, squinting against the light cast by the massive flames as they spread to another building. The soldiers had all left, leaving the small square empty and deserted. Only the occasional body gave any hint as to what had happened.
He stood in the rain, utterly alone, his arms spread wide to catch the droplets. The blood slowly ran down his body, forming crimson pools among the corpses at his feet. He was weary from the battle and ready to return to camp, but not until Oslus had discussed what it was he had in mind. Creed waited patiently for his commander, excitement building within his chest alongside his exhaustion. It felt like an eternity. The only motion left within the city was that of the rain, and the only sound was the rumble of thunder in the distance, the wind having fled from the anguish of the city.
“Creed.”
Creed spun towards the broken door, the excitement about to burst from his chest. Oslus stood in the doorway, his arms spread out to either side. “I would like to be the first to congratulate you. It would seem one of my generals received an unlucky blow during the battle and we are now in need of a new one. You, of course, fit the position perfectly.”
Creed nearly jumped out of his skin. He bit his lip and slammed his fist into the nearest building, trying to control his excitement. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret your decision.”
“I should think not,” Oslus said with a laugh. “And, as a general, you are entitled to certain-- privileges. I keep a strict hold on my men, but as a general, I offer a little leniency that soldiers aren’t allowed.”
Oslus brought his hands away from the door, pulling three young women out of the building, their hair held tightly in his fists. Two of them whimpered and cried, completely helpless in his firm grasp. The third snarled and tugged at her hair, trying to claw at Oslus with her sharp nails. Oslus gave her a quick jerk, forcing her to grab at her scalp in pain. “I must admit, this country does produce some fine whores. Hair that flows like water, skin that’s as soft as silk. You will never find better spoils of war than these fine beauties.” The two women whimpered in fear as Oslus dragged them to the nearest building, while the third dug her heels into the bloody mess at her feet. He twisted her hair with a jerk, forcing her to be more compliant.
He kicked the door open and turned to Creed. “This being you first experience with such things, I will permit you to choose which you want, but only this once. The other two will be for myself.” Oslus gave the women a quick tug, forcing them to stand still.
Creed looked at each of the women, his mouth suddenly dry. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t. He had fought, had killed people, but never had he been allow to…
Lust began to rise within his chest like fire from a dragon’s throat, fierce and unquenchable. All three women were beautiful, but the one that had been resisting Oslus seemed to call to Creed in a way he did not understand. With a shaking hand, he pointed to her. “I… I want her,” he said slowly.
“Very well then.” Oslus threw the girl into the house causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. He caught Creed by the arm before he was able to enter the building. “Try not to ruff her up too much. She’s a spirited one, and I would like to have a go at her as well.”
Creed swallowed and chuckled nervously. “I can’t make any promises.” Oslus laughed heartily along and shoved Creed playfully into the building, closing the door behind the new general.
Creed stumbled into the room. He looked back over his shoulder at the door, before a quiet sob brought his attention back to the girl. He unstrapped his sword belt and set the blade down against the wall. The girl had her back to him, her shoulders shaking wildly. She leaned against the wall sobbing to herself.
“Now… this could either be painless or…” His voice died out, unsure of what to say He took a step back towards the door, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. It… It wasn’t right. But Oslus had given him this privilege. He couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t throw away such a gift!
He began to cross the room, stripping his armor off as he went. He took a few steps closer to the girl, examining her as he moved. He felt a chill run down his spine, exhilaration for what was about to happen. Or was it? Something felt wrong. The girl was beautiful, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. Yet her beauty seemed somehow diminished from what it had been only moments before, as if it had never been. Her shoulders were bobbing with every sob, but they were not move quite right.
Another chill ran down Creed’s spine, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. He could hear her sobs as they escaped her throat, but with each sob they sounded more like laughter. Dark, insidious laughter.
Creed reached out and grabbed the girl by the shoulder, intent on pulling her about. He pulled his hand away and grabbed at it in pain. She was ice cold! The girl spun around and faced him. He recoiled in horror, nearly falling to the ground in his retreat. Jet black eyes bore into him. Her voice exploded throughout the room, but it was not the voice of a young woman.
“Is something wrong?” the voice asked. It was a deep rumble that built in intensity as it continued to speak. “What’s the matter, child slayer? Is her beauty not enough?”
Creed shook with fear as the girl began to change before his eyes. The young, pretty maiden standing before him slowly faded, and a dark wraith cloaked in black robes took her place. The hood was drawn up about its face, its features hidden in shadows. The entire room grew unnaturally cold. Frost spread out from its feet as it took a step forward, coating the floor and walls in small crystals. “You have cut a path through this land with the blood of the innocent and the bodies of brave men. You have murdered, pillaged, and enslaved every city you have come across. With each foul act, you tainted your soul still further.”
Creed lurched back and snatched his sword, ripping the blade free of its sheath. A slew of emotions rushed through his mind, anger, fear, hate. He held his sword out in front of him, trying to ward off the hellish creature. The cloaked figure laughed, its shoulders shaking with dark mirth.
“Do you think such a thing has any effect on me?” The wraith reached out with one rag covered hand. It grabbed the blade, the iron instantly freezing within its grip. Creed watch in shock as the metal shattered, leaving only the hilt in his hands. He dropped it and took another step back.
“What devilry is this?” he shouted.
“Devilry? Why, you should know all about devilry,” the other taunted. “You yourself have been committing the work of the devil since the very moment you joined the army.” The wraith reached out and grabbed Creed by the throat. It pulled him close, allowing his icy breath to spill down Creed’s face. “It is you who has caused so much misery in this land. You are the reason children fear for their lives, that women cower at the very mention of war.” Creed screamed in pain as the wraith slowly pulled its hand away, leaving four black scars on his neck. “Now you shall reap your reward.”
Creed convulsed with pain as the words exploded in his ears. He dropped to his knees, bile burning his throat. He shook uncontrollably as pain pulsed through his body. He tried to rise, but his legs would not hold him and he toppled to the ground.
The wraith laughed and knelt down next to Creed, his hand reaching out to pull Creed’s chin up. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” Creed moaned.
The wraith’s laughter died down to a rasping chuckle that whispered of death. “I am Scaith, and there is only one thing that I have come for.”
“My life,” Creed hissed through ragged gasps.
Scaith’s laughter erupted again and he shook his head. “Your soul.”
Creed looked at Scaith in disbelief as the wraith’s words filled the room. “You will have no happiness, no pleasure in this life. You will feel no joy, no love, nothing. Without your soul, you will be a husk. You will walk this earth as the living dead. A corpse damned to the fires of Hell for your monstrosities. You shall have no friend, no alley, and you shall succumb to the very darkness you sought to embrace until you are nothing more than an animal.” Scaith leaned in close and grabbed Creed by the hair. The chill of the other’s breath was heavy on Creed’s face as Scaith spoke. “You will be a monster among men, hated for all that you are.”
A freezing pain ran from Scaith’s hand into Creed’s skull and down his spine, tearing a scream from his throat. Lights exploded in his vision, shattering his thoughts into a thousand pieces. He gazed up at the ceiling through blurred vision. Scaith rose and turned away, his dark cloaks flapping about. Creed lay on his back not know how he had gotten there.
“Yet you are not yet hopeless, Creed. There is still a chance.” The voice sounded distant, as if calling out from across a ravine. The words had meaning, but he could not discern what they were. He lay there in silence, voices rampaging through his mind. One of them was his, but he was not sure which one. They whispered to him, telling him to take a course of action, but none of them seemed to agree on what action to take. They fought and bickered, seeking to dominate.
“What chance?” he croaked. Everything seemed to blur together, preventing him from remembering. He rolled to his side and tried to rise, but his feet slipped out from beneath him. “What chance!”
Someone called his name. Or was it his name? What was his name? An explosion shook the foundation of the house. Sounds of battle echoed in from the streets, or was it the sound of wings beating the air? Horse’s hooves on the stone? He had to flee, to run. He had to get away. He pulled himself to his feet and fell again.
What’s wrong with me?! Creed screamed in his mind, fighting back against the voices that twisted his thoughts.
He struggled up, holding his arms out to maintain his balance. He turned to the door and reached for the handle. The wood exploded into splinters and he fell back with a shriek. A massive black raven dived in towards him, talons extended, beak ripping. He screamed and struck out at it, but it was gone. What was gone? Run, he had to run!
He stumbled out the door. The rain was falling in torrents now, the wind returned with all the fury of hell behind its cry. It struck Creed, threatening to knock him to the ground and pin him there. Dark thunderheads slammed together just overhead, throwing their lightning bolts to the ground in rage and screamed claps of thunder. The rain drenched everything and the ground shook with each rumble of thunder. No, not rain, blood! Blood was falling from the sky. Gallons of blood pouring down on him! He looked up in terror as it struck him from all sides. He shrieked, covering his eyes. The clouds weren’t clouds, they were faces. Faces of those he had killed. Faces filled with agony and horror. Faces out for blood, his blood! The thunder rolled in on him, but was a lie, it was a voice. The little girl’s voice, taunting, screaming.
“Hush, Creed, don’t be frightened. Come. Come,” she said.
Creed wailed in horror. He clawed at his ears, pulling the skin away and allowing his blood to flow, to mix with the blood-rain.
He was running, the buildings fallen away. Darkness everywhere. Light erupted, screams, whispers. The ground was wept blood causing him slip, stumble, fly. Someone was there, no one, himself, gone. The voices tore through his mind without mercy.
The sky was angry, hateful, spitting its forked tong to the ground. Everything was on fire, burning, freezing, broken.
Creed screamed as hands reached out and grabbed his shoulders. The hands of Scaith, those terrible hands!
“Hey, hey, try and relax.” The voice was kind, frightening, soothing.
“I can’t stop!” a voice shouted, possibly his. “He’ll find me. Stop the voices!”
A liquid ran down Creed’s throat, salty and metallic. He coughed it up, blood, blood in his throat! It was bitter and foul, but it calmed his body and relaxed his mind. His muscles became weak and he slowly began to fade into unconsciousness, the voices growing quieter with each moment.
What have I done? Creed thought as darkness crept through him, shutting away the world.