The High King's Bride

This book is Copywrited and for mature audiances. Enjoy!

The end of the Second War

The sky was a dark, crimson red while the sun appeared almost as a licorice black. Flames raged as Xaxas snapped his clawed finger, and the volcano erupted with another explosion. Shaking his horns, and silky coffee hair, he was merciless to all who lived in his path. He walked casually down the cracked, pitted cobblestone path, occasionally glancing a glare at the wolf who coughed blood. This was the last of the supernatural adversaries conscious in the small city, hindering his attempt at searching for the key to his mother and father’s prison realms. He had searched the world, destroying nearly every corner, lifting every stone, however he found nothing. Moments ago, the mortals here lived in luxurious happiness, now they all died from the ash and flames of his rage. And the few who lived, hid if they had the ability to do so.

The King of Wolves struggled and snarled at him, covered in scars and blood, gored in the liver. Xaxashevaal, the Ruling One chuckled at the beast, who was the last standing from the futile efforts to save the pitiful world around them. They had defeated or tricked the others, but none could best him. None could stop him from his rampage. He was merely doing what his beloved imprisoned parents had created him for. What else could be expected of the Horned One’s son? He grabbed the wolf by the throat with no effort and slammed him into the ground, leaving an impact in the stone where they stood.

The wolf took on the form of a naked man, smaller than the true King of the Supernaturals, and weaker as well. The King of All could hear his thoughts rolling around in his head. He wondered what to call Xaxas. Surely, not his name. That would be suicide. He held no right to even know what it was. In fact, he didn’t. He’d only heard the first half from a gurgled scream some time ago… the last time they fought.

“High King….” Coughed the wolf man. Xaxas raised a brow. To the wolf, the man was his King… they had been defeated, and he was probably the last thing Xaxas would encounter before killing them all.

“Hmm?” He questioned. He used his free hand to wave the slightest gesture, and man-eating demon spiders the size of horses borrowed from his father erupted from the ground. They skittered frantically snatching panicked mortals, dragging them body, soul, and all to Tartaron, the Kingdom of Hell. All the while, the sky rained fire, melting the innocent upon impact. Screams could be heard immediately in the distance, and the wails of the innocent made the King of Destruction smile.

The wolf was beyond intimidated. He regretted ever challenging such a creature. He had confronted one past himself by fathoms. He, who was simply born with all the abilities of the Princes of Destruction… the Old Ones…. as well as conjure magic beyond any other caster’s abilities decided to be ever so slightly merciful. The Wolf King cursed himself for not trying to reason with him sooner, now under the boot of one he could not best.

“Forgive our foolishness and allow us to breathe a little longer.” He coughed. “I see now… that this was a fool’s errand. I surrender on the behalf of my fallen comrades.” It was true they all laid throughout the city, that was in ruin, but they were not dead. They were forced to live repeatedly after death whereas he had never been defeated. They were the gods’ desperate attempt to maintain this world this time.

The Destroyer looked at his masterpiece and looked back at the dying wolf. He could not breathe as he was. Oh right, they need air. He thought, removing his foot off the wolf’s chest. “What would I receive in return? There is nothing you can give me. There is nothing I want. All I wish is for you and your pathetic band to die.” He said flatly. He had heard enough groveling, and with his fingers free, he held out his left hand. And the world around the wolf glowed red. This was the end. No one could escape a blast of raw energy like this.

“What of a mate?” he coughed, kneeling at his feet with tremendous effort from his failing body. It was a word the god had never heard in that language, but for a mortal to offer so desperately, it had to be something worth having.

He stopped charging his blast in the blink of an eye, and the earth beneath his feet calmed. He was cruel, but reasonable. If it were something worth it, then maybe he would stop the rampage. “What is this thing you offer?” He sneered.

The wolf man collapsed on his side; it seemed the internal damage was great. “More than Wife, more than simply a tribute or concubine… a mate is given to us who shift under the Pale Lady’s light that we may have them to forever complete us. They are the other half to the soul… surely you would want an unbreakable bond so great.” He said wheezing. Then it dawned on him.

He laughed a deep booming chuckle, amused at what the Moon Goddess had done. His mother shared her love and compassion on these small weak creatures, yet here he was… lonely. Without anyone to complete him as the small wolf spoke of... He felt as if the gods mocked him, for he was birthed in flesh that he could not be part of the pantheon…. Punishment for his mother… She’d loved the Horned God against the Sun God’s wishes. For that he killed his own daughter, and disowned his grandson. She did her duties in his realm… it would only make sense that she would make him her lover.

“Half my soul….” He growled, showing fangs, looking at his black clawed hands. He had women. Many. It wasn’t something that he worried for… but it was as shallow as a trickling stream created from the rain. Temporary. None could live as he could, except the small wolf struggling to survive under his power. They revived themselves as the gods’ champions, but none he possessed would last longer than a century. The women were tributes, along with immeasurable amounts of gold and gems from mortals, begging that their towns be spared. And he would; he was not one to go back on his words.

“She will be one of our lines. She will be exotic. Half-blood. Beautiful. Pure. Please accept this offer and spare this world…. it can be worth your time if you give us a chance.” He passed out, and the High King turned his gaze to the other presence he sensed. It was a minitour, one he’d partly disemboweled earlier that day, using a large branch as a cane. With his free hand, he held in his own guts. The King of Halves looked at the now dead Wolf King…. He would awake soon, in pain, but ready to fight only to die again in an endless cycle of attempting to slow Xaxashevaal and his generals.

He liked the thought of an obedient, exotic woman who he could share his immortality with. However, he wondered was the world worth sparing. It was merely full of arrogant weaklings. Some were created by the Lord of Light, which was honestly a death sentence… Food. Tools as a means to an end, or flesh to scratch an itch. They were nothing, yet… this was something he certainly did not have.

As it was… all his generals, even his brother, were defeated. He was a king with no kingdom…. A king with no Queen.

“Wolf you have my curiosity. You have a deal… though you are in no condition to spew details.” He looked down at him with black eyes. His pupils were flaming crimson, creating their own light on the defeated champion. The wind blew, and he stepped over the dead wolf, now fixated on the nearly gutted minitour. He coughed blood but refused to die.

“I Kneel.” He said immediately in grunts only those two could understand. He was in no shape to fight. “I heard Ashital’s words, Your Highness…. Please allow us time to procure a beauty worthy of you and meet at another time when we are more presentable to your liking.” Said the minitour, bowing as low as he could. Xaxas was now in front of the bull, who shifted into a man’s shape to speak in common tongue. The High King looked down on him, as he was nearly a meter taller now. He narrowed his eyes at the King of Halves, and the bull’s gaze averted to the destroyed cobblestone. “I, Aeschylus, vow this to you.” He said weakly.

“If she is not a beauty… If she is not pure, if she is not what was promised, even the gods who bound me here will tremble.”

Aeschylus could only mutter confirmation to the murderous, but dissipating aura of the god encased in flesh.

The sky became clear. “I will return tomorrow. If terms are met, I will sleep within Vesuvius. Pray to my mother and father the female you pick is worth my waiting for. I am a patient god… but I will not wait forever.” His voice carried on the wind clear as a bell, and it gave the bull shivers.

The Wolf King gasped deeply, and the crunch of healing bones echoed off the waisted streets.

“He gave us a day Ashital.” Said the bull. He picked up his comrade’s brother, and the wolf who bore red eyes’ corpses. They were pack who all fought and failed, though he didn’t feel it was right to let them rot on the battlefield after they willingly came, knowing they had no champion’s blessing. It was painful to sling the broken bodies over his massive shoulders, but he wished to find the other leaders of the supernatural creatures. The longer it took them to assemble, the longer they would take to form a plan.