Ashborn Primordial-Chapter Ashborn 409: Nidhanam

Vir didn’t think for an instant that Raja Matiman or Annas would show themselves. The current Chitran leadership were cowards. Cowards that saw Vir defeat Cirayus—ten times the warrior they would ever be.

His suspicion was proven right when, instead of the ones responsible for the kidnapping, it was Governor Asuman who greeted him at Samar Patag’s castle.

In usual form, Vir had Ashani open a Gate directly to the castle’s audience chamber. For added effect, he’d had her open it from as deep within Mahādi as he dared venture.

The effect was… More than he’d anticipated.

Matiman crumpled, unconscious, as did every guard in the room. Through Prana Vision, Vir could feel a cascade of life forms fall throughout the castle.

Realizing that his mode of transportation could very well be misconstrued as an attack, Vir collapsed the Gate behind him.

Then, with slow, sure steps, he walked up the steps to the empty throne and sat on it. The ancient wood felt at once familiar, and Vir could almost feel the history of Garga course through his veins.

At least this hasn’t been defaced, Vir thought, gazing forlornly at the massive double doors that were locked shut. Doors that had had their intricate carvings scraped away, defiling and defacing Garga itself.

It would all be remade. Vir would commission new doors. Then he would have the whole Ash-damned castle inscribed with more carvings. Extolling the virtues of the Garga. Immortalizing the treachery of the Chitran. In every corner of the city, Matiman’s crimes would be recorded. Vir would ensure history remembered Annas and Matiman and every other kothi who partook in the sacking of Samar Patag. Their names would be remembered and cursed for millennia to come.

Sitting on the ancient throne that ought to have still been occupied by his incredible father and mother, Vir swore this. He swore that, regardless of any prophecy, he would make this vision come true. Even if it took a decade. Even if it took a century.

Governor Asuman awoke to the most splitting of headaches, the likes of which he’d not felt in years.

What in all the realms…

Asuman struggled to his feet and tried to regain his bearings. He was in a large room. The audience hall… Yes, he had been here. Waiting for someone.

“And who said you could stand?” a thunderous voice boomed.

Asuman whirled to find a figure upon the throne. Incomprehension turned to panic, and Asuman’s tail stood on end.

“Kneel.”

A single word spoken. A word that may as well have been the law of the gods.

An all-consuming force pressed down upon Asuman’s shoulders, and he fell to his knees.

The kothi gulped. This power? This force? It could only be one thing. Balancer of Scales.

So the Bairans truly have joined his side…

The memories came flooding back, as did the indignation. Asuman had been forced into this role by none other than Raja Matiman himself, his ears corrupted by that vile Warrior Annas.

Asuman hated that kothi. Hated him with every fiber of his being. All the work he’d done to keep the peace—to broker a ceasefire between the Chitran and the Garga—had been undone by that hothead.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

Did no one understand the lengths Asuman went to? Did no one understand the impossibility of governing a city like Samar Patag, where half the citizens plotted to slaughter the other half at all times?

Asuman felt forever unappreciated. That was fine. He’d no desire for glory or riches. He only wished to better the lives of all he governed.

Even that, it seemed, was about to be taken away.

As Asuman gazed upon the figure seated upon the throne of Garga, as he took in the black fire that burned off of his skin, Asuman felt nearly compelled to kneel. To recognize the authority of this living god. To cast off his clan and throw himself into servitude.

It was only his terror that kept him. Terror, not for himself, but his family. Matiman had stated in no uncertain terms what would happen to them should he fail here.

And so, despite every fiber of his being wishing to run away and cower, Asuman fulfilled his role in this farce of a meeting.

For, seeing the Akh Nara now, he knew Matiman’s plan would fail. That this ambush would result only in the deaths of their own. In his death.

“Where is she?”

The Akh Nara spoke only three words, yet each resonated within Asuman’s chest, as though he’d been hit with a strike of the Warrior Chakra.

Shivering, and with a heavy heart, Asuman dared to reply.

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“The orphan mother is safe,” Asuman stammered. “I assure you. She’s come to no harm.”

“I hope so, Governor. For your sake.”

The pressure increased on Asuman’s body, and he felt his knee quiver from the force. Just a bit more, and he’d crumple.

“I swear to all the gods! I swear upon my family! She is. I… I will take you to her.”

“No, Asuman,” the Akh Nara said, rising from his throne, black cape emblazoned with his symbol fluttering behind him. “What you will take me to is a trap. Did Matiman truly believe I would not notice? Or does he think me stupid? Does he think me incapable of seeing through his pathetic ruse?”

“No!” Asuman said, though the truth was not far off. “Matiman… knew you would come. He knew you could not ignore him.”

The Akh Nara snorted. “Then spring your pathetic trap. Take me to her. And watch in despair as I thwart your every effort to stop me.”

Asuman shivered as the weight of Balancer of Scales eased, allowing him to stand.

Were this anyone else, he would have dismissed the words as mere bravado. This wasn’t anyone else, however. This was a living god. A god who had defeated one of the most powerful demons in the realm. Who burned with Ashen flame, and who was raising an army of demigods in the Ash.

Like a puppet, Asuman guided the Akh Nara out of the audience chamber and down a hall. The god walked behind him, ready to attack.

Asuman wanted to laugh. He had no power. No tattoos. The Akh Nara could breathe and kill him. His very arrival nearly had. Any more of that deluge of prana and Asuman would have died. Of that, he had no doubt.

Feeling little of anything, Asuman led the Akh Nara to the chamber buried deep beneath Samar Patag. The chamber said to have been used by the Gargans for their rituals in the past.

The moment they entered, the Akh Nara froze. Was it fear? Had he finally realized the magnitude of this ambush? Or was he worried for the orphan mother who stood bound at the center, gazing at him with wide eyes.

For a brief moment, Asuman’s heart leapt. Perhaps there was hope for him, after all.

And then, the Akh Nara chuckled.

“What irony you have, Fate,” he muttered. “To stage an ambush here, of all places.”

Mustering his courage, Asuman managed to force out some words. “What… do you mean?”

“Nothing you would understand,” the Akh Nara said, gazing at the symbol engraved into the center of ceiling of the domed room. The symbol of the Akh Nara.

Did this room have some significance for the god? No, it couldn’t be. It hadn’t even been guarded in the sacking, and had been used off and on as a storehouse since then. The Gargans knew of this. None had said a word.

It was just some old room, Asuman convinced himself.

Ignoring the threat to himself, the Akh Nara walked up to the woman.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a voice lacking even a trace of the regality and power he’d exuded earlier. The voice was tender. Warm. Young.

The orphan mother responded by burying her head in the Akh Nara’s chest, her tears running down the god’s black-night armor.

Asuman stiffened. Would he chop off her head? Or would he push her away, reprimanding her?

He did neither. Instead, he gently stroked her hair, whispering soothing words.

Asuman stared on, unable to make sense of the being in front of him. As the masked Warrior Vaak, he had shown nobility, and a desire to broker peace between their two clans. While his methods had been unconventional, Asuman felt an ally in Vaak. Or at least, someone who could be reasoned with.

As the Akh Nara, he was almost a different person entirely. He had always been confident, yet now, he was… Regal. Terrifying. Different.

Is he, though? Asuman thought to himself. Who was the real Akh Nara? The all-powerful god? Or the whisperer of tender words?

Asuman shook his head. Either way, it would not matter. Not after he delivered his message.

His throat as dry as the desert, Asuman opened his mouth and uttered the words that would end his life.

“We have fulfilled our promise. Raja Matiman decrees that, for each day that the Akh Nara lives, ten additional Gargans will die. So, for the sake of your clan and this realm… Die.”

Asuman flattened himself against the ground and prayed.

There was no warning, no indication of the deluge of attacks that flew at the Akh Nara.

Forty-Eight arts slammed into them, all at once. Every Aspect spell was represented, as was the Chitrans’ own Warlord’s Domain and Warlord’s Battlecry. Not just one or two, either.

For this ambush, the walls of the circular chamber had been hollowed out, creating a ring that surrounded the room. Through each wall, countless holes and slits had been carved.

All forty Warriors who participated boasted Chitran bloodline tattoos. They were Chitra’s best. Handpicked by Matiman from their corps of elite Warriors. No resource was spared, and unlike most Chitran, all were veterans of a hundred battles, having fought countless Ash Beasts at the Boundary.

It wasn’t only the arts. Dozens of Warrior and Life Chakra attacks surged forth as well.

No matter the demon. No matter if it was Cirayus himself, with his arsenal of defensive arts… God or not, no demon alive could survive such an onslaught.

It was a barrage designed specifically to kill gods.

When the bursts of light cleared, what was left was… nothing. Nothing at all.

Asuman frowned. That shouldn’t be. Even with such an attack, the Akh Nara should have survived. There should have at least been a corpse! There should have been blood. And what of the orphan mother? Where did she go?

Asuman’s questions were soon answered. Not by just one voice, but many. The voices of agony. Of pain and suffering.

All around him, a cacophony of death echoed.

“What is happening?” Asuman stammered. “Status Report! Where is the Akh Nara?”

This time, Asuman’s queries were answered only with silence. The voices stopped. There was only silence.

Asuman spun, too scared to check on the ring of Warriors. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“I was willing to forgive the Chitran,” a cold, dark voice said from behind him.

Cold sweat broke out on Asuman’s back. His tail stood on end. Slowly, with terror, he turned.

His eyes found the Akh Nara, cradling the waist of the orphan mother, his jet-black armor intact. His face unharmed. The black flame was stronger now, billowing off his body as if it were ablaze with the power of the Ash itself.

The Akh Nara walked slowly to Asuman. “I want you to tell them that. I want you to tell them I was willing to target only those in power. Those who participated in the sacking of Samar Patag. No longer. Their actions today have earned them a more dire sentence. Tell them that I will kill every last Chitran serving in the military. And tell them… That I will hang Matiman and Annas high above Samar Patag, for all to see.

“There, they will stay, naked, for twenty days and twenty nights without food or water. Scorched by the sun and unable to die. And only then will I have them beheaded. Publicly. Their corpses will be paraded around the realm, where the people of each clan will be invited to spit upon them. And then, only then, will they be buried in the earth. There will be no cremation for the likes of them. Cursed to never again enter the great cycle. Tell them this… and despair. For if it is death they want, then it is death they will get.

“Tell them,” the Akh Nara said, slowly sinking into the ground, “that they have earned the wrath of a god, and that it will be paid in full. With rivers of Chitran blood.”

Then he was gone, taking the orphan mother with him, leaving Asuman alone with the corpses of forty-eight of Chitra’s best.

Asuman fell to his knees. Not because of any art, but out of despair. He despaired not for himself or even that of his family. He’d written all of them off the moment he was forced into this idiotic plan.

No, Asuman feared for the future of his clan. He despaired at what the egos of the few with power had wrought on the innocent many.

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