The pounding rain, detonating bolts of lightning, the bell tone of near constant thunder, and the shriek of the wind concealed the approach of William's army right up until the last possible moment. The young king's men, already half convinced of his near sainthood, were now utterly assured that God Himself was aiding their sovereign by conjuring up such a storm.
Even so venerated in the minds of his troops, William was no fool and did his best to use the storm to his advantage. Only once the darkness was at its most intense did he move his troops into position, pulling along behind them the siege engines. Quickly the trebuchets were moved into position and halted, their crews straining to load them with stone and draw the ropes tight. Atop his horse, his eyes never leaving the dim view of the city, William raised his hand and held it there. The siege engine crews waited, watching him for the signal to fire. The young king held firm, silent and waiting.
A bolt of lightning lashed overhead and the thunder boomed deafeningly. In that same moment William brought his arm sharply down. Immediately the trebuchets were let loose and the sound of their whirring mechanisms was masked by the boom. At the same time, the mass of infantry rushed forward, all carrying scaling ladders.
Unable to even hear or see the attack, the defenders on the walls of the city were taken completely by surprise as massive boulders began to crack and break across the parapet. Several guards were carried away with pain filled screams as they were crushed by tumbling debris. By the time any of them had recovered enough sense to move or react, the ladders were already being thrown up against the outside wall.
The guards rushed to intercept the invaders atop the walls, but by now they had already secured a foothold and met them head-on with shields raised. More defenders were called up from the city to help push the men of the Northern Kingdom off the wall, but this proved difficult under a rain of rocks as the trebuchets began hurling their projectiles up and over the walls and into the city itself.
Then, just as the defenders seemed to be holding their own, the gates of Zwergstadar trembled and shook as a massive battering ram was thrown against it. With the element of surprise in their favour, William had had his troops draw the defenders away from the main gate so he could move the ram into position almost unimpeded. Zwergstadar's defenders were spread now too thin to prevent all avenues of the attack from succeeding.
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“Distracted in the chaos of a siege, the city was engulfed in violence. I loathed entering this way, to slay their leaders like some common assassin, but necessity it seemed was a harsh mistress.”
-0-
Vorador watched the chaos engulf the walls and the main gate. Despite how substantial the gate looked from the outside, it would not survive the assault of the ram for long and the native defenders seemed woefully inept to prevent it. If the battle proceeded this way then the city would be William's within the next hour. As loath as he was to admit it, William was indeed possessed of a tactical genius.
That, however, was certainly none of his concern. William could take the city or not, his only problem now was getting what he needed and leaving before the opportune moment passed. He turned away from the chaotic spectacle to follow Nupraptor, his sudden and unlikely ally, into the palace of the Mandarins. The elite guards who had so fanatically protected the lair of their masters stood motionless, as rigid as statues and ignored them as they went by. When the Guardian and the Vampire had first arrived they had indeed tried to prevent them from entering. Nupraptor, however, with something of an impatient gesture, had turned their minds off. The guards stood there unseeing and inert, asleep while standing. It was an impressive feat that displayed the Mentalist’s powers of mental dominance. Such men as these, though, would have been naturally susceptible to manipulation of the mind or the Mandarins would not have been able to enthral them.
Quickly the two of them proceeded through the palace which seemed just as empty as before, until they came to the stairs Vorador had been unable to scale before. The arcane barrier was still there and somehow seemed even more obtuse, as if it had hastily been reinforced. Vorador did not think it too hard to assume that was indeed the case. No doubt the Mandarins had fled immediately back to their lair and reinforced their wards to barricade themselves in like cowards.
Nupraptor gave the obstacle a cursory glance then proceeded immediately up the first few stairs, his stride confident. He paused just before the barrier and raised both hands. As he did the glow from within his bulging cranium began to fluctuate, flickering like a candle flame. Vorador could sense arcane energies being discharged and the surge of mystical conflict. The barrier before them seemed to pulse and writhe, rippling like a disturbed surface of water. The disturbances grew faster and more frequent until finally the barrier collapsed, dissipating out with a wail like that of a butchered hog.
“They will have felt their barrier dissipate.” The Mentalist said without ceremony, turning around to look at the Vampire who himself was already starting forward. “They will know you are coming.” Vorador strode past him without so much as looking in the Guardian of the Mind's direction, face grim and shoulders set.
“It cannot be helped.” He replied and went on up the stairs. There was certainly nothing for it now but to get it over with as quickly as possible. As they had agreed beforehand, Nupraptor stayed behind at the bottom of the stairs to prevent any help the Mandarins might summon from coming to the aid of their masters. Nupraptor would be putting all his faith in Vorador to deal with the Mandarins but at this point, the Vampire supposed, the Guardian of the Mind had little alternative.
Vorador would never make the mistake of arrogantly assuming he was invincible, but he felt confident of his ability to defeat the five of these would-be conqueror upstarts. Although now it did seem that the reason the Mandarins had never made much of an impact in the history of the world was that they were indeed destined to die by his hand. William would undoubtedly see that every mention of their existence was removed and that he himself would be remembered for a victory over some nameless terror in the East.
The staircase twisted several times as it rose and did not branch off into other floors even once as if its single intention was to reach the top floor. Vorador kept climbing, his senses finely tuned, waiting for anything that might hint at the possibility of an ambush. He had backed the Mandarins into a corner and desperate men were capable of anything.
The howl of the typhoon winds outside grew less as if the higher he went the thicker the walls were, muffling all sounds. The stairs had been plain stone before but after he passed a certain point they became polished marble. All at once the plain, almost humble interior of the palace beneath gave way to luxurious hanging trails of silk and varnished wooden borders. He saw then that he had been giving the Mandarins far too much credit by thinking their palace simple or humble. They had merely gathered all of their wealth and ostentatious luxury and hoarded it, denying anyone but themselves even the merest glimpse.
Reaching the top of the stairs he came across a wooden door hung with red and green velvet on a simple latch. He could have simply opened it quietly and slipped inside but there was no point to that. The Mandarins knew he was coming so attempting any degree of stealth was utterly futile anyway. To that end he simply kicked the door open.
The apartment beyond was a vaulted room filled to almost overflowing with the most obscene luxury he had ever seen. Stepping out into the chamber, his footsteps echoing off the high ceiling, the Vampire slowly turned his head to survey the room.
The floor and several pillars around the outside of the room were made of marble and polished to a mirror shine. Hanging from various points were intervening drapes of the finest red and gold silks embroidered with strange symbols, creating a curtain of warm colours that concealed a separate area which was strewn with large pillows on the floor around a fireplace where flames were already licking up around fresh logs.
Around the outside of the chamber were several floors that ringed the wall and each one seemed to have a different purpose. One seemed to be for dining, with a long polished table and set of chairs laid out. The table itself was strewn with western style silverware with several burning candlesticks. Another level was filled with full bookcases stuffed with tomes and scrolls and had the look of a library area or study, although whatever lights there were in that place were dim as if few people had bothered to go into it for some time.
There was a wide set of plain wooden doors leading out onto a balcony, bolted shut and fastened down and through them Vorador could plainly hear the sound of the typhoon winds. He noted that readily enough as he was not foolish enough to commit to battle in closed quarters without having recognised at least one avenue of escape.
What drew Vorador's attention, however, was the display in the centre of the room. It was a shrine; there was no other word for the construction. A square dais rose two feet off the ground with a smooth wooden trellis supported at each of the four corners. This altar-like construction was surrounded by items of gold, silver, and many different types of precious jewels. They tumbled down the side of the shrine like a waterfall. Such a mountain of treasure would have been envied by every monarch on the face of Nosgoth.
The centrepiece of the shrine, however, captivated him. It was a pearl, but a pearl of such a size it seemed impossible. The perfect orb sat upon a wide red cushion, set above all the other treasures and it was clear why. It was at least a metre across, larger than his entire body and gleamed brightly even in the faint light. He stared at that pearl and his mind told him that the thing was impossible. The mollusc required to make one of that size simply did not exist.
Then he recalled something. He had been in the midst of Bane's hidden arcane grove, facing down the white alpha Werewolf Remus. It had been there that Remus had claimed that his brother, the crazed Romulus, had allied himself with the Mandarins. To achieve that alliance he had gifted the would-be conquerors with what he had called 'The Pearl', an artefact which he claimed had come from the Lost City itself.
Could this mammoth jewel be that traded treasure? It seemed logical to suppose so. But there was something else here, something not quite right. His frown deepening, Vorador came to a stop by the shrine and stared at the orb. There was something strange about it, a kind of pulling sensation that seemed to draw everything toward it, like the pull of gravity only with its effects more spiritual than physical. All at once he had the unsettling sensation that he was looking at something so old that the mere concept of age lost its meaning.
Unbidden, he raised a hand as if to touch it.
"The sacred orb is not for the likes of you." Five chorusing voices snapped at once, echoing in the confines of the large room. Vorador turned sharply and looked back as out from behind the silk curtains, the Mandarins stepped forward. Whatever surprise and fear had afflicted them before they seemed to have gotten over, as each one of them was armed for battle. All but one of the five mind-joined sorcerers had discarded their coloured robes and now wore that overlapping scaled armour of their elite guards. They also wore the same forward facing helms that hid the upper part of their faces, their mouths all grim and frowning. As if to make distinctions they wore scarves of alternating colours that corresponded to the shades of their earlier robes: red, yellow, green, and blue. The only exception to this was the Mandarin in white. He had kept his robe, seemingly making no preparations to fight at all.
Vorador stepped away from the shrine to give himself fighting room and instantly drew Marrow, the jagged sword at his side in a moment. The five armoured figures stopped a prudent distance away from him, forming a semicircle.
“You come to destroy us...” The green Mandarin said. He was armed with a longbow the length of his leg, a full quiver of arrows with black fletching hanging over his right shoulder.
“...in our own sanctuary.” The red Mandarin completed the sentence. In both hands he carried a massive, barbaric-looking axe with spikes running down one side of the hilt.
“Your arrogance is astonishing...” The blue Mandarin added. In his hands he held a sword that Vorador recognised quite well. It was certainly an antique by now, but the sword was the same used by the crusaders during the Sarafan purge. He had grown to hate that style of weapon.
“...and ludicrous, Vampire.” The yellow Mandarin finished. Vorador's eyes singled him out quickly. Sure enough he still had that shield, the luminous shield he had come to claim, only now he could make out more details.
It was indeed styled to look like the face of a full moon and the level of detail was exquisite. Around the outside of that moon icon in regular patterns had been carved several dozen runes of Ancient Vampire origin. Even from here Vorador could read them all, symbols for power, defence, augmentation, and revival. That was indeed the artefact he needed for Bane to open the way to the Lost City, he was sure beyond any doubt now.
The Mandarins raised their weapons as one, the action so seamlessly synchronised it was indeed as if one mind had made the decision to move.
“We are the Mandarins. To us is the land of Nosgoth rightfully owed.” Their voices declared in arrogant unison.
“It is under our banner...” The white Mandarin started almost at once. He had no weapon of his own. Rather he held his hands out before him, his palms clasped together. His pose was relaxed, perhaps even serene, but Vorador recognised the subtle set of muscles that indicated the adoption of a fighting stance, even one he was not familiar with.
“...that all the land, its diverse peoples and quarrelling cultures..." The red Mandarin picked up.
"... will finally be united.” The green Mandarin finished.
Vorador gave each of them in turn a flat, unfriendly look that spoke whole volumes of scorn. Then he just rolled his eyes and grunted dismissively.
“You are nothing more than deluded pretenders.” He stated flatly and raised Marrow up in front of his chest, the tip pointed quite purposely at the yellow Mandarin. “You are an inconsequential footnote to history.” He put as much of the contempt for them he had recently developed into the statement as he could. “Within a century few souls if any will remember you ever existed.”
He had purposely goaded them, of course. He wanted them to make the move when he wanted them to, when he was prepared to meet their charge. Even so linked, sharing thoughts and wisdom, the Mandarins it seemed were quite capable of making hasty decisions based on emotion and they began forward.
The blue Mandarin, holding his Sarafan blade at shoulder height, came forward swiftly. His approach was certainly quicker than the average Human’s but Vorador parried the strike with Marrow easily, the two blades connecting with a short spray of sparks. Usually his tactic would be to push through and deliver a killing blow before his opponent had time to counter. But as soon as Vorador drew his sword back to do so, the yellow Mandarin leapt forward holding up the shield.
Marrow lanced forward. Such a thrust had easily stabbed directly through shields before but this time the blade was deflected to one side. The shield itself did not even waver under the impact, its surface unmarked. More than that, however, for this Mandarin to have come to the aid of his fellow in so quick an engagement would have meant an extraordinary level of unity of thought and will. Vorador did not think coordination of this calibre was even physically possible.
“You, Vampire, are but...” The red Mandarin started and came at the Vampire from behind with his brutal axe, swinging it around in a sharp arch. Vorador ducked under the swing and then leapt clear and away.
“...one individual mind!” The green Mandarin finished and the Vampire had to slip to one side, then around a pillar to avoid the volley of arrows that came hurtling through the air towards him. The arrows were all a foot long and their points gleamed to show they were made of silver rather than steel. While that certainly looked impressive, all Vorador could think was that it was a waste of perfectly good silver.
The Vampire leapt out from the other side of the pillar, rolling in a ball across the ground before springing up with Marrow drawn back to stab directly at the red Mandarin, attempting to come around to catch him from the left-hand side. But even as Marrow thrust forward, the man brought the shaft of the axe he wielded up and knocked the point aside. Before Vorador could adapt to that the blue Mandarin was suddenly there at his flank, bringing his Sarafan sword up to block his way. Vorador had to parry the sword away to avoid a slash across his face before backing off.
“Within us, what one sees all see.” The green Mandarin declared, drawing another arrow to notch as the others moved in around him, except for the white Mandarin who had not yet moved a muscle.
“What one hears, all hear.” The yellow Mandarin agreed, holding the lunar styled shield up and out. As far as Vorador could tell he had no weapon of his own and was employed merely defensively, but he would be a fool to simply assume that.
"What one thinks, all think!" The red Mandarin said, hefting his heavy axe up. Vorador watched him. The others had chosen lighter weapons that emphasised speed and agility while he had gone with a tool of barbaric bloodletting. This meant he was physically stronger than the others. They might be so alike that they shared one mind but physically there were differences.
“Ours is a dance of unity and order!” They proclaimed in unison.
Vorador raised himself to his full height, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as the four Mandarins formed a circle around him. The white Mandarin still stood off to one aside, simply watching and waiting.
“All I need to kill you all is one moment of carelessness.” Vorador remarked, his eyes running across them all slowly. “Even five minds joined together are capable of mistakes.” As one all the Mandarins smiled at that, an oily sort of smug grin of private amusement.
“We will see 'your' mistakes...” The blue Mandarin began cockily.
“...long before you see ours.” The green Mandarin finished and two arrows were in the air in the very next instant.
Swinging back, Vorador danced clear as the tip of one arrow came dangerously close to hitting him square in the face. Even as he spun clear, a sword and axe were coming in from both sides trying to cut him in half between them. Acting on pure instinct he slapped the sword aside with the back of one hand and hammered his shoulder into its owner, forcing them backwards.
Before he could take advantage of this and bring Marrow up to cleave the figure holding the Sarafan blade, he found the path of his sword once more blocked by the luminous lunar shield. Reluctantly he realised then and there that the Mandarins certainly had a point.
Not only did they possess five sets of eyes and ears but their minds were joined, one augmenting the other. As such they could think several magnitudes faster than himself. The whole became much greater than the sum of its parts. Their sheer speed of coordinated thought meant that the speed which he could wield Marrow was rendered useless. The blade would do no good if it could not catch enemies as they plotted around him. The axes were also useless weapons for the same reason.
There was only one way to offset their speed of thought and that was to do something unexpected, something they could not possibly plan around in advance. To shock them for just one moment, at least enough to deal critical damage.
The answer to this problem was already snarling to be let out, an angry growl of frustration deep within. The bear was not an animal you could cage up for long periods of time. If it was to be tamed then it needed to be let out every so often. In mid-spin, Vorador sheathed Marrow back at his side and unlocked the door to the bear's cage.
He did not so much flow into the newly acquired form as burst into it. His body bulged with tight muscle wrapped in fur, claws as long as butcher’s knives cleaving the air along with the bear’s angry bellow. The roar seemed to rattle the very floor beneath their feet.
Seeing a monstrous bear suddenly appear in their midst, the Mandarins all flinched back as one in shock and confusion. Vorador did not waste the opportunity. Directing the bear’s wrath he lashed out, caught the stunned blue Mandarin full in the chest with a backhanded swipe. The man gasped, all the air whooshing out of his lungs as he was sent hurtling through the air at least a dozen feet before crashing into the floor, his Sarafan sword dropped and skittering away.
The yellow Mandarin had enough time to bring up the shield with which to defend himself but even that had its limits. A shield did little to defend you when you were struck by a titan bear that weighed at least two thousand pounds. The blow sent him spinning head over heels through the air, tumbling end over end until he crashed through the silk curtains and landed amongst the pillows by the fireplace.
Both Mandarins he had struck had been quite badly hurt. They had to have at least sustained broken bones although they had been lucky to not get caught by the claws of the beast he had become. The only Mandarin left nearby was the red one armed with the axe. Seeing and perhaps even feeling the damage inflicted, he backed off quickly.
Growling and snarling, the bear in which Vorador was enclosed started forward after him with an ominous clicking sound. He would just have to end this quickly by rushing the three remaining and sink his claws and fangs into their flesh to rend them apart. The bear was pleased with this idea.
Suddenly, however, the red and green Mandarins stepped back and away and made room for the white Mandarin. The man was finally starting forward, his pace causal and unhurried. As he walked he was slowly undoing the silk cords that bound up his robes and once they were loose he let his garment fall away behind him, leaving him naked from the waist up. He did indeed have no weapon and came forward with nothing to defend himself with.
Vorador supposed that if the man was so eager to die that he would confront such a creature with no armour or weapons, then it would only be courteous to oblige him. He raised the bear’s massive paw, claws splayed wide, preparing to bring them down to rend him into pieces with the first swipe.
But as his paw descended, the white Mandarin put on a sudden and near impossible burst of speed. He raced forward, sliding under the falling claws, easily evading them. Vorador tried to right himself, to turn around to get at the man but this Mandarin was absurdly quick just by himself. With an acrobatic skill that seemed impossible for a Human he leapt up and delivered a kick directly into the bear’s chest.
The blow ought not to have done anything to a creature of such size with a chest larger than the entire body of a man, but the point the Mandarin struck sent a ripple of pain throughout Vorador's body, causing the bear to bellow and rise up and back in instinctive alarm. The white Mandarin pressed the advantage before the Vampire could rein the beast in, spinning in midair to land a second kick and then a third to each shoulder.
As if the man knew exactly where and how to strike, each point he made contact with sent additional bolts of crippling pain through the bear’s body, a strange numbness spreading out behind it. This infuriated the bear and in its utter frustration and anger it charged out. For a moment, Vorador lost control. The beast brought its massive jaws down, attempting to bite the man in two. The white Mandarin ducked low, spinning his lower body around at the waist while supporting himself with only his hands. In the same fluid motion he brought his legs up and smashed it into the bear’s muzzle, causing it to bite its own tongue.
The bear was more than frustrated now. It was in a red eyed rage and nothing Vorador could do would rein it in. Snarling with utter fury it swung its arms about, claws cleaving the air wildly. They caught on several of the red and golden silk curtains, tearing them out leaving thick threads trailing. The Mandarin proved as agile as ever, dodging around swipes, dancing backwards out of reach each time. Vorador, himself divorced from the bear’s blinding anger, saw the problem. The Mandarins' union of minds gave them individual benefits as well as a shared augmented whole. The fighting style of this one for instance required an almost perfect synchronisation between body and mind, and thought and deed were as one. Such unity would be easy to master for one who was already used to sharing thoughts and actions with the minds of others. That was another advantage they had over him. He was certainly not as one with the bear, not yet.
Unable to defend himself or retaliate, he did the only thing he could do then. With a tremendous effort of will he took hold of the bear's essence and with an angry force of his own slammed it back into its cage. It fought all the while but this was still his body and his will was dominant. In an instant his body reverted, slipping back into his regular shape. In that same moment his hands, claws becoming talons once more, reached back and grasped the handles of the twin axes.
Havoc and Malice came forth and were whistling through the air with deadly force, coming down on the white Mandarin’s head. The man looked startled by the reversed transformation but he reacted quickly enough, reaching up and grasping the axes by the blades. Their edges bit into his flesh so blood began to run thickly down his arms but he had fended off a mortal blow. Vorador pressed him, pushing the axes down further trying to inflict more damage.
There was a sudden sharp whistle and Vorador felt the air get thrown out of his lungs as something hit him in the side of the chest. Then there was another whistle and a second blow took him, this time hitting him in the shoulder. Glancing down he saw that protruding from his body were the long shafts of arrows with black fletching. The green Mandarin drew back the string of his bow and fired again.
Breaking off from the white Mandarin the Vampire brought the axes up sharply and cleaved the oncoming arrow out of the air. The bowman fired again and again and each time Vorador was forced to bat the oncoming arrow aside, stepping back and back towards the shrine in the centre of the room.
It was clear to him now that he had greatly underestimated the Mandarins. They had fought him to a standstill despite his own physical advantages. In a quick fluid motion the green Mandarin raised three arrows to his bow, pinning them up one atop the other and fired them all at once. Under normal circumstances deflecting three arrows would not have been a difficult task for the Vampire but the arrow lodged in his shoulder slowed his reaction time just enough.
He dodged one arrow and deflected the second but the third struck home. It sank directly into his neck, right into the encircling scar, the only physical sign left of his decapitation. Vorador was centuries old himself, and pain and torment of varying degrees had been inflicted upon him and by him onto others over that time, so he was no stranger to pain. But the pain that burst forth was indescribable. It erupted from the inflicted wound to radiate through his entire body without losing any potency.
Blood, far more blood than such a wound ought to really cause, gushed forth from around the arrow to splatter across the floor. He strained for breath but it did not come, his eyes widening in shock and utter confusion.
He stumbled back, colliding with the shrine behind him and the wooden rail cracked under the impact, spilling some gold and jewels in different directions. The pain was constant, a pulsing stab that reminded him all too clearly of that moment of utter agony he had felt just before the guillotine had taken off his head. Havoc and Malice clattered from his grasp to the floor, lying useless at his feet.
Gasping, straining for the breath that would not come he tugged viciously at the arrow lodged up to his windpipe. Making the shaft of the arrow twitch sent fresh bolts of pain through him. His teeth gritting as a ward against it, he tore arrow free.
Fresh blood gushed over his hands until they were more red than green. Blood was splattered down his front to dribble across the floor and as it gushed forth from him he could feel whatever strength he had galvanised flow out from him. His vision blurred and he felt the very energy he needed to even stand up ebb away.
How had he not considered before that the scar where his head had been reattached would be a weakness? Even if he had perceived it, he would never have imagined that a mere arrow would do so much damage. All around him the Mandarins were moving in, their weapons held up and ready in a unison of thought and deed. Even the ones he had dealt blows to, the blue and yellow Mandarins, were coming in albeit more slowly and in a dazed sort of way. The red Mandarin was in the forefront, hefting the heavy axe he carried.
Perhaps they had been right in saying that while their combined minds were capable of mistakes, they would have seen and exploited his errors long before he would even recognised theirs. Their uniformly smug smiles of victorious satisfaction grated, even more so for the fact that the jubilant expressions might have been justified.
"Thus perish all those..." The white Mandarin began, coming to the side of his fellows although keeping back as he was no longer needed to deliver a finishing blow.
"...who defy our will." The green Mandarin finished and his tone was slightly different, perhaps more smug from having fired the arrow which had caused such an injury.
Vorador's breath was jagged, holding one blood soaked hand to his neck, trying to keep his strength from ebbing away. The wound was not fatal but it certainly was critical. Reduced to this pitiful state he certainly could not continue fighting. He had to get up and get away, retreat and recover or he was going to die here. His eyes darted to the door to the balcony he had noticed before. It was his only way out.
Struggling to even remain on his feet he lurched and reached out automatically with hands dripping with his own blood for something to steady himself. The Mandarins began to close in, the bowman drawing back another arrow to fire at his neck and the axe lifting in preparation for a killing blow. They were preparing to come in for the kill and so wounded the Vampire had no means of defending himself. Through sheer force of will he forced himself back fully onto his feet, struggling desperately against what seemed the inevitable end.
Perhaps by chance, his blood soaked hand came to rest on the side of the shrine's treasure, the colossal pearl.
In that moment of contact something happened that shook the Vampire down to the very core and left him trembling like a child before a storm. Through his hand and the blood that smeared the side of that treasure he felt something stir. It was a sensation he had never felt before in a life which had spanned eons. The elemental abilities he had learned as a student of the Serioli techniques seemed to blaze within him in mere response to that stirring and as they blazed, the stirring increased. It felt almost as if something which had lain in a sleep so deep it might as well be called death began its long ascent back up to the light of wakefulness. As it rose the sheer size and scope of the thing seemed to form in his mind and that flash of insight actually scared him.
Then, from the depths of that so-called treasure and through his hand and very blood he felt the single thump of a long dormant heart, a heart so ancient that it had lain silent and still for uncounted centuries. That one thump radiated through him like a shockwave and seemed to shake the very foundations of the elemental control he had. The sheer force behind it was awe inspiring. With a startled oath he tore his hand away and stumbled away from the orb, heedless of the injury to his neck now, his attention on something much more significant. Whatever this supposed jewel was, it was no mere enlarged pearl.
-0-
“Such....naked power! Impossible!”
-0-
The pale orb sat there, enshrined and surrounded by obscene displays of wealth and luxury. For a moment it remained as it had been, silent and still with the slight alteration of the bloody handprint he had left on its side. The blue Mandarin with the sword, his face flushed and angry, stepped forward seemingly independent from the others.
"How dare you touch.." He began in outrage but none of his fellows had a chance to finish his sentence.
That moment, like the brief prelude of calm before a violent frenzy, passed and that deceptively inert orb blazed with a sudden powerful white light. It was as if it suddenly became a second sun confined to a mere few feet. The sheer intensity of it almost blinded Vorador and he had to turn away, holding up one arm to shield himself.
The Mandarins seemed to have forgotten him entirely, their collective gaze fixed on the blazing pearl heedless of what damage that powerful light was doing to their eyes. One by one their weapons clattered to the floor as they were captivated by the light, like moths to a flame. They seemed lost in the depths of it, their faces slack, mouths hung open, and eyes wide.
Faint sparks of blue energy began to flicker across the surface of the thing they had idolised and called a mere treasure, rippling lights that flared up and down, rising and falling in a regular recognisable pattern. There was no sound but the pattern, the steady, rhythmic thump of a beating heart was more than familiar.
Everything all around them, the chaos of the battle, the violence of the typhoon, suddenly seemed as nothing to the power that was rising within that closed space. Vorador could feel it stir the elements which the Serioli had taught him comprised everything. Fire quavered, Air trembled, Water cowered, Earth gave way. This was a sensation he had experienced before and he recalled how he had felt when he had observed the bones of that strange creature that Tiamatu claimed was the source of the Hylden's curse upon the Vampires. This feeling was the same, only far more intense and acute.
Suddenly cracks began to appear across the surface of the orb with a sound like grinding rock pushed together by an earthquake. The sphere trembled as the cracks spread, running across it like the lines of a spider’s web. There was a buildup within that tightly controlled space, as if all the power that had been stirred was gathering together in preparation for one focused burst.
Then, from the depths of that buildup, a single palpable thought radiated out. It was similar to the telepathic communication of the Whisper so Vorador heard the words quite clearly.
-"I awaken."- With that, the orb detonated.