Are these visions of what will be, or what may be only?

***Warning!

This is a dark book filled with violence, politics, bigotry, betrayal, angst, family issues, death and PTSD. If these things disturb you I recommend you do not read this book as you will find yourself disturbed and upset.

However, if you are not sensitive to dark subject matter, I'd like to inform you about my intentions with this book and my personal beliefs. If You're not interested skip to the bit not in bold.

This book is made to explore fantasy politics and viewpoints that may or may not exist in the real world. My intention is not to convince you into a new way of thinking but to introduce you to new ideas or thought processes that make you reconsider your view or help you understand the oppositions point and maybe even your own beliefs.

It is up to you to decide who is morally correct and who you support through out the story and who out of the major factions you wish to side with. No character should be completely in the right and it's up to you to decide which evil you think is lesser.

Without further ado let's get started.

TW:Death of a child, superstition, body horror***.

It had been a dark day indeed for a small village in Worcester.

Since the mother had gone into labor things had gone awry in the once tranquil settlement. A mysterious plague had clasped the village in a vice-like grip, the cattle died in droves, orcs and the dammed attacks tripled in frequency as if seeking something from the villagers, the water in the wells dried and the crops withered and died.

Evil had encompassed the meadow, and yet they couldn't leave. All whom entered the surrounding forest would wake in their bed at home as if they never left, a sudden fear of laughter plagued them and sleep would never come easy again.

The mother wailed in agony, her hands ice-cold, her vein's coal-black and the boy refused to be born. Whispers of a prophecy had been floating around for over a millennium, the day god would conceal himself in flesh and blood to bring about the end of days. Many candidates had been wrongly crowned, but this babe seemed a likely candidate indeed.

The boy was born on the 20th of March yet no man or woman rejoiced, least so the mother who looked upon her own flesh with deep-rooted hate. Her duty was clear, her resolve steeled. It had to be done.

On the third day, after the babies birth she took him to the river bank to bathe the boy, a tradition thought to clean it of its sin in a past life. With urgency, she methodically but gently rinsed the boy with the sacred water, praying for the evil to be washed down the stream and far from her home.

Yet it was for naught.

The more the mother cleaned the greater her stomach sunk. The water went a crimson red, the baby began to cry and thrash in her arms a shrill that began to shake the earth itself. Rocks trembled, water rippled in a rhythmic beat, animals fled in terror, villagers looked on in horror, the water ran faster and faster and the fish began to lay belly up in the stream.

The mother sobbed as the boy stopped crying. He looked to her blankly, trusting and innocent.

"Lord," she begged. "Give me a sign."

Lightning cracked through the air striking the ground next to her. She jumped back in surprise, but the baby didn't stir grabbing her pinky finger like a lifeline. She sobbed again, caressing his sprouting brown hairs. His rich brown eyes, fair and gentle skin, toothless mouth and chubby little face gave her a pristine image of what he would look like.

Quite the looker she laughed to herself gloomily.

He yawned ready to slip into a slumber, one his own mother would make sure was eternal.

Aggressively, she dunked the boy into the water, its screams rising as bubble as it began to thrash and cry in its mothers arms. She sobbed and sobbed as her flesh and blood ceased to be in her arms. The poor maiden, would never recover from this moment, it would haunt her for many a year into her late years.

Little did she know fate had other plans for this boy.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Empathy was something the mistress of death lacked these days, her black heart felt little at all actually. It beat for one man and one man alone, yet when it came to children she had always felt her stomach churn. Before her time as the harbinger she herself was expecting within the year, before she was ripped from life and had her ripeness ripped from her.

So when she found the young boy awaiting ascension she found herself revolted. Her blood-red lips pulled into a grimace. Her nose was wrinkled, and her eyes glimmered like diamonds as she swept down to raise up the boy in her gray cloak.

This was without a doubt one of the sickest escorts she had ever been forced to make. Usually when a fletchling died it was reincarnated as a separate being, given a chance to start anew under better circumstance, but not this one. He was very clear, this boy would be taken to the underworld and left to rot in the hell for eternity.

Disgusted, she cradled the poor child in her arms cooing softly to the youngling, his skin was a sickly pale, his sprouting brown hair already withering, undeveloped body quickly losing its mass. What kind of person kills a baby in cold blood? She couldn't take such an innocent creature to damnation, could she? Already the gods had little faith in her. Was she really going to defy them so shortly into her epoch as the final escort.

She debated with herself for over a month what to do with the boy, taking him with her to drag the dead to their resting place. She cradled the boy in each encounter asking those she visited what she should do.

Many showed support for her defiance others argued it should suffer the same fate they were.

These were ignored.

Finally, she decided. She would take the boy to Donalbain, her lover in life cursed with immortality.

She appeared before him as he slaughtered a bandit camp. He grabbed the final criminals jaw and began to pull. The bandit screamed and pleaded to no avail as Donalbain ripped off his jaw in one fluid motion. The bandit screamed and writhed on the floor before being impaled by deaths high heels. His head gave a wet crunch under her feet.

Donalbain looked up slowly, blood dripped from his long, matted, white hair that was only kept when he was expecting his lover. He had not expected this fight nor her and especially not the child in her gentle embrace.

"My love, what are you doing cradling that boy?" He asked bewildered. "No you must leave! You're soul is held by sylléktis anima, if he finds you here he may strip you of what little remains of my beloved."

He turned on his heel ignoring her pleas to get him to listen. Irritated, she sped in front of him, allowing her tattered gray cloak to be picked up by the wind exposing her decrepit figure. The fat had been stripped from her bones, mould and moss clung to her skin, her hood fell revealing messy and twisted bramble like hair. The arm she held the boy in was broken in several places and each finger was disfigured in some way and she was missing her ring finger all together.

"They take claim to my soul not my heart you impertinent slave of bloodshed!" She boomed. "You will hear my words and hear them well!"

He huffed unafraid, at least that's what he told himself, before sitting on an upturned log the thugs had used for a seat by the campfire. It was a quaint camp she realised glancing around.

The once white tents were dyed scarlet red, bodies laid scattered along the floor like litter, they could both see the lost souls weep over their slain corpses. Weapons lay discarded frivolously abandoned as the remaining men fled the scene, scavengers such as the Gátrana(a large feline with a mane sharper than any needle and powerful jaws with canine teeth bigger than any dagger) dragging the mauled bodies from the scene.

Within days no one would know this place boar witness to a slaughter.

"When did you learn to spit such vitriol?" Donalbain asked quietly.

"Dragging men into the jaws of death tends to make them rather combative, you hear a lot." She answered simply brushing the boys head softly. His body had further deteriorated, the plumpness of a baby was lacking showing the boys ribs, his gums were black, his blotchy and in disarray despite her best efforts to preserve him.

"And what of the boy? You takin' him to nirvana?" He asked more casually than he knew he should've, but death meant little to him these days, even if it was a child.

"No." She murmured nervously.

"Pardon? If you are not taking the boy to the afterlife then why is he in purgatory?" Donalbain asked incredulously.

"He asked me to damn the boy." She laughed slightly hysterically.

"He? Who are-" He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening in horror. She nodded slowly.

"That bastard!" Donalbain seethed. "Kacón asked you to dispose of a mere child! He'll rue the day we met I swear to you my love!"

He began to rant aggressively, swinging his sword and nashing his teeth as he described the unsavory way he wished to butcher the God of Mischief. No mortal man would dare speak of him in this way however they were no mortals of any kind and to be struck down would only give Donalbain the sweet release of death he craved, allowing the pair to escape into eternity forever.

Infinity was a large amount of space even for the divinity.

Though she had a feeling he wasn't very focused on the boy and instead on their curse, she needed to get this back on track.

"This babe was drowned by his own mother, someone has prevented me from viewing why his fate came to pass, but his innocence is clear. He has not yet lived long enough to commit sin, yet I am to leave him to rot. So I come to you and beg for you to grant the boy sanctuary. You are the only mortal who can shield him from the prying eyes of Kacón." She begged sincerely.

He contemplated his response, reluctant to take in a boy so young. He would be raised without a mother and a wandering father who never stayed in place, he would have to take flight, it was in his nature, he would never be domesticated. However, the boy coughed lightly and that alone made his cold heart beat twice as fast.

He took the boy gently, cradling him softly in his arms. Death stood, kissing the boy on the forehead. Instantly the boy was rejuvenated, his form became physical, his flesh expanded and grew healthily, his hair grew to adequate length for the boys age, his eyes gained the sparkle of life and blood flooded the boys cheeks turning them a rosy red.

"You're as good a man as the day you courted me." She whispered sweetly.

"No, but I can try to be." He dismissed resolutely. "What should we call him?"

She brought a bony finger to her chin, tapping it in thought.

"I was thinking.....Oliver. Oliver Praestol" She smiled at her fiancée's last name placed on a child. She felt like she was beginning a family, one she would soon have to give up.

But it was okay to pretend, right?

She offered her husband a weak smile, he responded with only caressing her cheek. She leaned into the act of intimacy before stepping back.

She took one last look back before collecting the souls one by one dragging them to the fate they had chosen. At least she had done what she thought was right. She would ask her lover about his life the next time they met, if that was before he died again. She wondered who he would grow up to be. A merchant perhaps, a knight, an adventurer like her husband? The possibilities were boundless and she couldn't wait to find out what became of her decision.

If only she knew what she had done.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***