Part the Second: Last Kiss

"In the days since the Great Cataclysm, when the oceans swallowed Atlantis
and Lemuria, barbarism reigned. Gone were the days when magic and science
mingled in harmony, creating the most advanced civilization of the time.
Gone were the civilized times of Atlantis, Lemuria, Valusia, and Pangea. For
the first time in the history of the world, civilization had degenerated
into barbarism."

"I'm aware of what was and never will be again."

"Yet not all were lost in these dark and dismal times. Though Atlantis had
sunk, many of its citizens successfully fled to the main continent. There,
they strove to survive and thrive, and eventually came to be known as the
Cimmerians. Centuries later, the greatest of them will succeed in taming the
barbarous world around him."

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for him. Continue."

"And yet the Atlanteans were not the only relics of the past to survive.
Though their island capital of Lemuria was hurled to the ocean bottom, the
Deviants live still. Using their mastery of genetics, they shall create
rebellious slaves to carve them an empire beneath the earth's crust."

"Now that, at least, is information I can use. I'll be sure to prepare a
welcome if and when they surface. What of the Dark Lord?"

"Along with the Deviants, other enemies of ancient Atlantis survive to take
advantage of the chaos around them. Varnae and his vampiric brood stalk the
land still, searching for immortal blood that was forever lost to them."

"So Varnae lives, does he? Not for long should I find him. Tell me more.
Tell me of power."

"Yes, power. Even now power blossoms in this dead land. The dark mages of
Stygia wield power granted by Set himself, though skill with a sword is the
most of the power seen thus far. However, power of a different sort has
surfaced. A young woman, whose heart is as dark as her mane of hair, will
soon know great power."

"Yes! Where is this woman?"

"The woman was born in Cimmeria, though her ancestry is different from her
countrymen."
"I see. Most ingenious, hiding one in plain sight." Standing tall over the
soothsayer, the cloaked figure places several heavy coins on the small table
between the two. "What you have told me is pleasing, 'old one'. The money is
for your family. This is for you!"

Striking out with his hand, the cloaked figure shatters the brittle neck of
the blind soothsayer. Without so much as a gurgle, the gnarled old man
crumbles to the ground. Standing over the body, the cloaked figure looks
down with piercing eyes. Within moments, the soothsayer is nothing but dust.

"Once again, I thank you. I now know who and where my enemies are, as well
as the location of one of my 'sisters'." As he strides out of the tent, the
cloaked figure reaches up with his covered hands. He pulls back the hood of
his cloak, revealing a crown upon his brow, and looks up at the brilliant
sunlight.

Krakark remembers the sky in the years after the Great Cataclysm, how dark
and morbid it was. Now the world has healed to some extent, and the land
ripe for conquest. The Deviants are in no position to oppose him, and Varnae
is no match for him. Only Set and the Eternals could stand against him. He
has learned nothing of the Eternals, for all his searching. Set, however,
already controls the nation of Stygia, and could easily expand his reign on
a whim.

Perhaps alone, I would fall. Perhaps. But with a consort at my side, Set
himself will learn caution. One-by-one, we shall gather, destroying all foes
until none are left to oppose us. It will be then that the Celestials shall
pay, and pay dearly.

Nimbly leaping upon his nightmarishly black horse, Krakark rides north.
North to Cimmeria. North to the woman who will soon learn that she is much,
much more.

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"By Crom, that was amazing."

"You always get your money's worth with me." Sliding her skirt down and
redoing the ties on her blouse, the raven-haired beauty stand up and smiles.
"You know the drill Nortiw. It'll be five crowns or I scream rape."

"I know better than to double-cross you, wench." Nortiw counts the money out
of his money pouch, lying nearby. "I stiff ya once, I won't be able to get
stiff with you again. Haw haw!"

Handing the money over, Nortiw grabs her wrist. "Tis been half-a-dozen
times, wench. I'd say that warrants a kiss."

Spitting in his face, she pushes him away. "Sorry, big boy, but I've sold
everything else about me. I'm holding on to my kisses."

Placing the coins in the pouch dangling under her blouse, the wench sneaks
out of the dingy barn. She couldn't care if Nortiw or any of her customers
got caught, but she has a respectable mum that's also a real bitch.
Everybody else may know what business she's in, but as long as it's not
public, Selene will never know.

Straightening her hair, the raven-haired woman smiles and greets everyone
she runs into, even exchanging several winks. She's soon past the village
gate and on the road home. It's rather late in the day, and the shadows are
lengthening.

"It is indeed a pity that a creature such as yourself has to resort to petty
whoring."

The young woman turns around, fighting back a scream. Next to her stands a
tall, cloaked man, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "Pl-please don't hurt
me. I'll do what ever you want."

The cloaked figure stands silent for a moment, considering her with his
eyes, hidden by the cloak. "Really? Just like those three men several months
ago?" Grinning at her startled reaction, he continues. "Unless I'm mistaken,
and I never am, they abducted you on this very road, taking you to a small
abandoned stone hut nearby. There, they raped you viciously for most of the
day. After one got through, he gave you a mocking kiss. His mistake."

Grabbing the raven-haired woman by the hair, the cloaked man forced her
mouth to meet his, embracing in a forceful kiss. She does not fight, though
she is curious why he would do such a thing, considering what he apparently
knows.

The moment their lips met, the cloaked man feels his very life essence leave
him, transferring into the woman. Even with his knowledge, he finds himself
fighting back, memories of a similar experience going through his mind.
After a moment, the cloaked man drops, the hood flying open to reveal a
dried up husk.

"Yes!" The woman cries, feeling unimaginable power course through her body.
She can feel every inch of the earth beneath, shifting to the beat of her
heart. The moisture in the air, in her very body, shimmers and pulses to her
thoughts. This is true power, and the fool before her just gave it up!

Suddenly something goes wrong. The sensations leave, and she feels the power
fading from her body. With a cry of pain and despair, she falls to the
ground, semi-conscious. The cloaked man rises to his feet, his lowered hood
revealing a young and handsome face.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, after draining the life from one of the rapists,
you had the strength to do the same to the others. It was then that you
realized you were different from others, that you could make the world
yours." He looks down at her with disappointment. "And yet here you are,
making nothing of your power. Living the same old live of a whore."

Coughing up dust, the raven-haired woman looks up at the cloaked man with
anger and confusion. "How-"

He waves the question aside as if it were nothing. "Never mind that. Let's
just say you haven't reached your full potential. That will soon be remedied." Pointing down the road, he directs her to the glowing torches slowing moving towards them.

"Shortly after you left, they found the dried up corpse of poor Nortiw.
While all the men in town were formally willing to let you carry on, so as
to protect their pathetic reputations, such a gruesome murder is serious
business. One man said you had left the scene, and while he lied, everyone
knew it was the truth. You are aware of what they do to sorceresses, don't
you young lady?"

She knew, and she was frightened. Nearly a year ago, a Stygian priest had
been captured. As far as she knew, he was still alive, daily begging to
finally meet Set in the afterlife. Leaping to her feet, she did the only
thing she could. She ran.

The cloaked figure did nothing to stop her. By the time the villagers
reached that stretch of road, he had mysteriously vanished. Having seen him,
the villagers named him a Stygian priest that the whore was in league with.
Roaring in rage and fear, the villagers continued up the road to the only
place the raven-haired woman could go.

Running with all of her strength, the fleeing beauty makes it up the road to a small ramshackle cottage. Reaching it, she throws open the door and falls inside, relieved for the brief respite. But only a brief one, as the sounds of the advancing mob drives the victim into a frenzy of barricading the door.

"So, the dirty whore’s finally driven the whole town against me."

Turning from the door, her vision misted through tears and fear, she sees the shadowy figure at the far end of the room. Gasping, she backs up against the door. She actually considers throwing aside the junk and fleeing through the door.

For she would rather face the angry mob than the anger of her mother, Selene.

The large woman crosses the length of the room, glaring at her daughter with blood red eyes. "What happened, whore? You charge the constable too much? Or maybe the butcher’s wife came across you going down on her husband? Whatever it is, I’m paying for it too, so answer me!"

With that last cry, Selene backhands her blood, throwing her to the ground. Standing over her daughter, she spits on her. "Now you’re in familiar territory. On your back."

Suddenly, the sound of smoldering wood can be heard, as can the smell of burning. Smoke begins to billow through the cracks in the walls, and the temperature in the room starts to rise dramatically.

Desperately trying to rise, the young woman is thrown back by the sheer weight of her large mother. Straddling her, Selene wraps her meaty hands around her daughter’s throat, pure rage evident on her face.

Banging her head against the hard floor, Selene screams into her daughter’s face, spittle flying. "Do you feel that! They’re willing to burn you alive, and they don’t care if they take me with you! Not only have you taken my dignity, whore, you’ve left me to die for your sins!"

She struggles against her mother, fighting against the hands at her throat, pressing her own hands at Selene’s throat. "Mamma..."

"At least I’ll have killed you myself! At least my soul will be clean when I die!"

Her strength ebbing, the darkness consumes all.

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*Cough cough* "Wha-where am I?"

Gasping, she struggles to stand, throwing the sticks lying upon her aside. The heat should be overwhelming, yet she feels no pain. However, the blazing inferno that surrounds her is blinding, leaving her even more disoriented that before.

Even over the crackle of the flames, she can hear the hoots and hollers of the mob outside. The gibbering insults and cries of hatred stab deep into her heart. It is not the charge of murder for which they ridicule her, but rather her profession; her livelihood. Behind the half-hearted smiles and friendly greetings, they’ve always wanted to kill her, and took the flimsiest possible reason to do it.

Huddled within the blazing fireplace that was her home, tears fall. I knew they didn’t like me, that they’d never accept me. But to hate me so!? They see me as a threat to their way of life, something that has to be destroyed just because it’s not what they see as ‘normal’.

At this revelation, she raises her head, feelings of anger and vengeance bubbling forth. As she rises to her feet, the flames that surround her close in. Wrapping around her body, nibbling away at the clothes which bind her, yet leaving the skin unmarred. Clothed within the fires that would be her end, she steps forth to embrace those that have wronged her.

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Outside, the mob dances and sings, confident that the evil in their midst has been removed, as is the bitch that brought it into their world. The children watch the flames in fascination, while drunken men try to douse the fire in their own unique way. The witch is dead, and the people rejoice.

In their eager observation, the children notice it first. Several try to explain to the adults, but they’re wild tales are rebuked, for nothing can interrupt the celebration. The only others that noticed in time were the drunk, and it was for this very reason that they too did nothing.

However, their screams did warn the townsmen, though by this time it was far, far to late. Eyes of rejoice changed to frightened panic as the very flames they utilized moments before turned back, consuming those former masters that were closest at hand. Like a wild animal, the fires that were to cleans sin hunt those who believed themselves to be without sin.

And as the people ran, panicked and afraid, they saw her, commanding the flames to strike back against her enemies. Clad in the inferno that was her pet all along, she strode out the home that was to be her tomb, sending out flames to lash out against her persecutors.

Striding through the dead and dying women and children, she silently sought after those that sought to flee, gentle paces to compete with panicked sprints. And yet, her would-be killers fail to escape, for just as salvation seemed at hand, fire erupted around them, caging them like they dogs she sees them as.

Cowering in fear within their fiery prison, the men despaired. Several even prayed for Crom to claim them before the witch does, though the sight of her forced many to choke those prayers back.

Raven hair whipping out behind her, she strode through the wall of flame as though she were part of it. Her perfect figure, well-known among these men, only barely concealed by the ever-shifting flames that wrap around her like a living thing. She had always been a desirable woman. She could not make her living otherwise. And yet, at this very moment none of those men would deny her anything, everything they had would be hers, all for a simple kiss.

Stepping up to one of the men, she gently cups his chin and leans forward. Her lips brush against his lightly, providing him with only a moment of ecstasy. A moment. That was all she needed to leave a lifeless husk in her wake.

Softly moving on, she approached each of the men, providing them each with the one pleasure she had always denied them. A pleasure that would be their last.

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The first flickers of light touch upon the horizon. The moon and stars of the night flees at the rising of the sun, the dawning of the day. The evil darkness eradicated by the good of the light.

On other days perhaps, but not on this morning.

The rays of the sun touch upon the burnt out husk of a shack, the last flame long gone. Bodies, all skeletal husks, litter the ground surrounding the shack, the expressions of those that have faces ones of pure terror. In one area, there is nothing but a pile of ashes where there is no trace of a fire.

Sleeping beside the ashes there lies a young woman, a mane of black upon her head and nothing else. The sole occupant of the ravaged area, her body appears well-fed, composed of perfect health. An odd thing among so much death and destruction.

As though riding in on the rays of light, a robed figure strides through the ruins and the dead. Not watching his step, his heavy footfalls crunch the blasted husks that were once living creatures, splintering the brittle skin and bones. As silent as a snake, he approaches the sleeping woman.

"And so you have awakened, amidst fire and hatred. A good start, I must say." Kneeling next the woman, unfazed by her nudity, he takes a handful of ashes and throws it into her face.

"Augh!" She cries out, springing to her feet fiercely rubbing at her watery eyes. The robed man steps back, amused.

At the sight of the robed man, her face twists into a mask of hatred, her hands steaming. "You! You’re the reason all this happened! I’ll kill you!" She leaps forward, hands outstretched.

He side-steps her attack easily, looking down at her without pity. "Am I? Considering the ease with which I turned them against you, one would wonder if I hadn’t merely accelerated the inevitable."

She falls past him to land heavily to the ground. Instead of returning to her feet to fight, she lays there, her strength gone. Everything gone except the tears. "It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough! Why did you have to ruin it?"

Throwing his hood back, Krakark smiles grimly. "Don’t you remember what I said yesterday, my dear? The world can be yours if you want it, and yet you made nothing of your power, continuing the same old life of a whore. I therefore had no recourse but to end your life."

She looks up at him, her tear-streaked face confused. "B-but I’m not dead. I’m still alive. Somehow I stopped my mother-"

"Really? Was your mother Selene not choking the life out of you. Did you not black out and go limp in her arms, only to suddenly get a ‘second wind’ and drain the life from her. You do remember the pile of sticks that were on top of you, don’t you?"

She pauses, thinking back. I couldn’t have died. I did black out, but I drained her life in time. I must have.

Kneeling, Krakark looks into her eyes. "Believe what you will, but Selene killed you. She killed you and you killed her when you awoke, just as I did to Krakark long ago."

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that you are like me, a human of extraordinary power, created to take the world and rule it as you see fit." Krakark swept his arm behind him, to the carnage. "You caused this, my dear, in the insane throes of your awakening. You commanding the flames as a queen commands her subjects. At your gestures, these fleeing cattle stopped in their tracks, held by an unseen force. At your touch, men died, and they welcomed it. With your power, Cimmeria could be yours. At my side, the world would be ours."

She stares blankly, frightened at what she’s been told. And yet, deep down, she’s terribly excited as well.

Standing, Krakark offers his hand, which she accepts without thinking. Throwing his cloak over her, she opens her mouth, finding words at last. "You mean, I can do whatever I want?"

Laughing, Krakark shakes his head. "Not exactly. For instance, I could walk the ocean depths, but the skies are beyond my power. The entity of fire is yours to command, as are the realms of thought, but not without a price. Do you not remember the events that occurred last night?"

She pauses for a minute, then nods, remembering. "I was angry, full of rage over what they were doing to me. I wanted to lash out, and the fire...responded to my needs. But as I was having my revenge, I felt weak, my control over the flames waning. I...I entrapped a number of the men, and used them to replenish my strength."

"You see the danger, then? You’re powers are limited, requiring life energy to power them. Lacking victims, you begin to draw upon your own life energy weakening yourself in the process. Immortality is not of much use without the power and the strength to make use of it properly."

"Do you have this weakness?"

"Of course not, my dear. I was created to lead you all, and thus I have none of the fail-safes within my genetic structure."

Her primitive mind only comprehends one of the phrases. "All? You mean there are more of us?"

"But of course. We are a race of perfection, designed to lead a primitive humanity towards greatness. Meaning, of course, that we enslave them and do whatever we want." Krakark laughs. "I am the first, and you are the first that I have found. Others will follow, and I intend to mold them as well."

Gently but forcefully, Krakark begins to lead her away from the ravaged land. "Come, there is much for you to learn, and this place isn’t safe."

"But we’re immortal. We have power-"

"Compared to humans, yes, we are unstoppable. But what of the magiks of the Priests of Stygia? What of the Serpent Men of Set, who can take other forms? They and others are many, while we are but two. Just because we cannot die doesn’t mean we can’t feel pain, and I’ve met creatures that have mastered the art of administering it."

She nods, accepting his explanation. "Well, umm, I guess you should know. My name’s-"

"I don’t care what your name is," Krakark interrupts. "That was your old life. The life of a failure. Because of your killer, you will have a better life than you ever would have imagined. Just as I honored my killer, so shall you honor yours."

Krakark smiles down at her. "Hello, Selene. I am Krakark."

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"We have before us the enemy, and we will kill them all!"

The army responds to their captain’s words, raising their bronze swords and shields in acknowledgment. Their roar for blood would frighten any army that wasn’t doing the exact same thing several hundred yards away.

Turning his great stead to face the opposing army, the captain pointed his sword forward. "This is our land, and no warlord will drive us out! For our women! For our children! For Keshan!"

"For Keshan!" The hundreds cried out, streaming forward behind their captain, death in their eyes.

As they ran, swords and shields raised, the army of the warlord, nearly a thousand strong, remained where they stood. Only one man, clad in blood-red armor that hid his features, strode out from the masses. Calmly striding towards the mass of Keshan death, his hand went to the sheathed sword at his side, and drew....

....an iron hilt, no blade attached.

Wielding only his worthless weapon, the soldier continued to stride towards the army. As the distance was closed, he raised his arm, pommel pointed towards the forces set against him.

Rushing with the screams of the murderous, the Keshans expected an easy kill, the single foe before them easy prey before colliding with the army behind him.

Arm raised, the soldier continued to stride forward, no fear to be detected in his bearing. As the distance continued to close, the handle of the bladeless sword began to glow red hot, then yellow-hot, then white hot, when the hilt and pommel following in succession.

Finally, with the Keshan army a mere dozen yards away, a gout of white flame erupts from the sword, a fiery blade that continued onward and widened as it expanded. Those Keshans that had time screamed in agony, their the flesh seared from their bones, then the bone from the marrow. White hot weapons and armor dropped to the ground, its wielders gone in the blink of an eye.

Sweeping his sword of flame across, the soldier watched the agonizing deaths of his foes without mercy. He keeps the stream of fire going for only a moment, yet it is more than enough. The moans of the dying and the smells of the dead are overwhelming, yet the soldier turns his back on them without a second’s thought. Placing the hilt back into the sheath, he gestures, and his army rushes forward to finish what he began.

And as the armored, fire-wielding warlord strode towards his tent, the cheers of his slaughtering troops move him where the moans of the suffering couldn’t. His name on their lips. A name that will spread across the world as it’s conqueror.

"Nicodemus!"

"Nicodemus!"

"Nicodemus!"

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Next Issue: Watch as Selene grows to become the Dark Priestess, and how she earned Kulan Gath’s enmity. Also, who shall stop Nicodomus from fulfilling his mad quest for power? In the Hyborian Age, only one name should come to mind!

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