Vaid Empire: Conquest

Vaid Empire: Conquestis a massive fantasy series that aims to mixeroticawith the quality of a published novel. New chapters and artwork are released every month for free, with the completely optional possibility to receive early access on the official Vaid Empire Website. The Series focuses heavily on worldbuilding, story, and characters.

The world of Ayphieal is shattered and chaotic, with kingdoms and tribes of six distinctive races vying for territory amongst themselves. It is only when a young human warrior finally pushes back against the chaos that the world begins to shift towards order.

***

38th of Fixuin, 20 AVE.

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Holy City of Arkos-Tul.

The festival city of Arkos-Tul lingered with ancient memories and long forgotten ghosts. As Naram sauntered down the old streets towards the great temple, she felt a cold chill despite the heat. The message in her grasp may as well have been made of ice biting at her fingers, though in truth the words had been carved into a thin slab that sat comfortably in her palm. Her thoughts lingered upon its pale deliverers as she felt the coral-like material, having been carved from a charom stem.

She could feel the gaze of her ancestors peering out at her from the empty windows of vacant buildings as she carried it forth. Only the jingling sound of the metal rings decorating her skirt broke the gentle silence of the morning, made louder by the swaying of her striped tail and svelte hips.

Ahead, she saw her first friendly face of the day. An old man brushed sand from the doorway of an empty building with intricate care. During a festival, when much of the nomadic population of Wonakaros made the long pilgrimage to the holy city to honor their ancestors, Arkos-Tul became a bustling metropolis. New buildings were constructed to house the ever-growing population, and celebrations rang through the ancient streets for many days and nights. For the remainder of the year, the city of black stone and dark domes was inhabited only by a select few of honored elders to serve as caretakers, much like the old Arkos she passed. Aside from Naram's family and her father's concubines, there were few others to speak to outside of guards and her assassins.

The elderly Arkos lowered himself to his creaking knees in her wake. The second daughter of The Holy Kromak deserved no lesser honor. She endured his worship with a nod, masking a sigh as she left him behind.

Alone once more, she almost felt uneasy in the eerie silence of the empty streets and buildings. Even after a lifetime among the ancient structures, it still felt unnatural for such a vast city to be so utterly lonely, as if its inhabitants had all fallen to dust in an instant. The metal claws of her polished gauntlet tapped together, banishing all misgivings in an instant. None would be foolish enough to attack the leader of The Tolkarik Assassins.

The message in her grasp was lighter than wood, yet it was a heavier burden than Naram cared for. When the great temple finally came into view ahead, she quickened her steps, seeking to serve her duty and be rid of it.

Black domes topped many of the short towers and buildings of the city, though the great temple held the largest dome of all. A grand half-sphere, the circular structure of her home loomed to welcome her.

Dark halls guarded by Arkos warriors guided Naram into the throne room of The Holy Kromak. A chamber fit for a god, silks hung from the walls, while concubines lounged among luxurious cushions littering the circular chamber. She ignored the stares of her father's lovers, pretending not to hear the hushed whispers about the serious daughter of their holy master. Only the most beautiful of offerings had been gifted to honor The Kromak, and they relaxed without a hint of silk to conceal their perfection, displaying their dark grey skin with seductive smiles. As one concubine caressed a bare thigh, as if to drag the young woman's attention to the treasure resting between her parted legs, Naram looked away with a scowl and darkened cheeks.

Through the haze of smoke dancing through the air that filled the ample chamber with the aroma of luxurious spices, Naram saw the throne against the far wall. Stepping forth, she knelt before her father.

A giant of a man loomed before her, sitting back in his stone seat of power. The dim light of the many candles decorating the room trickled through the haze to caress his bare chest, gleaming off the gold-plated horns of his bald head.

Naram wasn't surprised to find her eldest sister, Saros, lounging in his lap. The first acknowledged daughter of The Holy Kromak, she hung her legs over the stone armrest, dressed in only the finest of transparent silks that seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Her long loincloth rested between her thick thighs, concealing nothing, while no hint of metal nor armor of any sort tainted her smooth skin. Naram's bore the faint scars of her training. Saros had never touched a blade.

A powerful hand caressed his daughter's dark hair and curved horns like a prized pet. Another offered a dark Danok fruit, found solely along the coast. Only the best for Saros. She bit down, letting black juice trickle over her pretty lips.

"Ah, Naram returns," the deep voice of The Kromak uttered through the smoke, letting a low chuckle rumble. She saw the teeth of his sly grin. "What did our honored guests bring me, I wonder?"

His other set of hands did not rest idly. Four powerful arms each sought to savor the moment, for a concubine leaned against the throne on either side. Even as he fed Saros, one hand caressed the rump of a lover, and the other glided up the soft thigh of the second concubine until he found her damp prize.

As she heard the moan of the woman ahead, Naram tried to block out the sight to focus upon her duty. "The snow dwellers bring word from The Potentate himself, father." Bowing her head, she offered the message with cupped hands outstretched.

His fingers left the concubine's rump as she was permitted to retrieve the slab. Pressing herself against the side of his throne, the naked woman eyed her master's second daughter like a hungry predator as The Kromak claimed the message. Naram leveled her gaze at the ground as she waited obediently.

A sly grin faded in an instant as he read. For a moment Naram thought she saw the true man beneath his calm expression, though the shadow of his real thoughts disappeared when he seemed to remember the eyes upon them, smirking once more.

The Holy Kromak switched to the Dril language to mask his words from the rest. "The humans cross the mountains."

Naram grimaced. She hadn't dared to read the words herself, though dealing with the snow dwellers made her skin crawl. They had come seeking an audience with her father, expecting him to meet them halfway as he had decades ago with The Potentate. Lacking the presence of the Dril leader, however, Naram had been sent instead. Despite her distaste, she knew of her father's...obligations."The weaklings of Narok won't stop them. You know that, your holiness," she replied in the same tongue, trying to maintain her calm.

Saros continued to savor the taste of the fruit, empty of concern and empty of thought. Only Naram had committed to learning the language her father used in private.

"King Torakeom is not so weak as my declarations would have our people believe," Krom's deep voice confessed. With a gesture, he summoned a concubine with a thin pipe lined with tiny vials of liquid. Taking a long moment to inhale in contemplation, letting his daughter linger in silence, he let smoke ooze from his nostrils like a mythical beast when he was done. "Yet The Potentate would agree with you. It seems his agents shall be sent to aid us."

Dumbfounded, Naram broke her submission by jumping to her feet. "Wedon'tneed the assistance of the snow dwellers." Remembering her place, she blushed before straightening proudly. "Forgive me, father. The Tolkarik Assassins aremorethan worthy of serving you alone."

"They have failed me once before," he reminded her, leaning back in his throne. She had rebuilt their order from what little remained, though the stain of their failure could not be cleansed. "You will cooperate with The Agents of Shai when they arrive. You will function as one." His sly grin returned, though it did not reach his weary eyes. "Blood shall spill upon my dunes. When it drowns Torakeom, his people, and all of Narok, I'd have us be prepared when it flows intoourlands."

Such was the command of her father, a living god, The Holy Kromak. She could offer no argument but a begrudging nod.

His attention returned to Saros, savoring the sight of his beloved pet. Naram realized she had been silently dismissed. Without another word, she bowed before removing herself from his holy presence.

Ignoring the whispering concubines once more, she swayed her deadly hips with measured strides, hoping to appear proud and strong in her father's chamber. When she found herself alone down the length of several twisting corridors, she loosed a defeated breath as her shoulders fell. Rubbing the sides of her head in annoyance, she stumbled along.

Only the sight of Karak lifted her mood once more. Finding her younger sister's quarters, the girl practically leapt into her arms when she entered.

"Did you see them? Did you meet the snow dwellers?" the small girl asked excitedly, reuniting. "Do they really melt in the heat? Do they only eat snow like you said?"

Naram laughed for the first time since she had departed to meet the Dril group, holding her tight. "Those were mere tales, Karak. Don't be foolish." She looked around, finding the room messy. There was little reason to be tidy when she received no visitors.

As the only three acknowledged children of The Holy Kromak, no doubt among many others, they received the privileges the offspring of a living god was entitled to. They shared his food, a dwelling inside the great temple, and a small portion of his worship and wealth. Hardly should one complain, even as Naram bit her lip at the sight of the lonely girl. If Saros was The Kromak's blazing sun of pride, Naram was a small fire. If Naram was a fire, Karak was little more than cool embers fading in the shadows. She squeezed the forgotten girl.Shewould not forget.

Even in the grip of her excitement, Karak could see the thoughts battling behind her sister's orange eyes. "What's wrong? Did they scare you?"

"Nothing scares me, little one," she chuckled, concealing an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Forget the snow dwellers. Tell me everything you've done while I was away instead."

As the girl excitedly did just that, Naram endured the taste of her lie as she listened patiently. The humans were coming. Cold winds blew across the dunes. Icy whispers sought their father's ear.

The Holy Kromak was right. Blood would surely spill upon the sands.

42nd of Fixuin, 20 AVE.

The Deep Mountains.

The snow took much. When it was gone, they marched like empty husks through dry peaks.

As the legion stumbled along in exhaustion, driven only by fervor, The God Emperor strode onwards. The desert would bleed before he was done. The weariness of his warriors would not slow him.

Long had the cold given way to harsh rain. The rain had slowed to a trickle, and now the sun beat down upon jagged and dry rocks. Insulated beneath his one-suit, Dominax cared little. The hotter the barren peaks grew, the closer they marched towards the desert.

Before his time, the weather and climate of the world had only been considered natural, for what else could any compare it to? With the strange orb embedded in the crossguard of his sword, whispering the few secrets of Dorian it wished to offer, Dominax knew differently. They ventured across a deeply unnatural world brimming with reminders of Dorian's handiwork everywhere he gazed. There were many truths he'd share with the Arkos after he crushed the lies of their false gods.

His white cloak billowed behind as he marched with purpose. The once pristine silk was as dirty as his armor. His boots crushed the small rocks in his path, hearing the thundering march of the legion at his back.

When he glanced behind, however, he saw exhausted bodies shuffling along. Thousands struggled to maintain his relentless pace. Thousands more had been left behind as corpses.

He nearly slowed his pace. When he saw Irith among the masses behind, he blinked. There stood only an ordinary woman where he had seen her, a stranger.

The God Emperor marched, pushing onward with ghosts forever at his heels.

***

As the sun hung low in the sky, Cendra followed her father closely. She marched a mere step behind, just to his right as Clin walked at his other side.

The frequency of their ambushes had diminished the closer they progressed towards The Kingdom of Narok, and the mountain pass seemed to be less damaged. Where once they had to build bridges and clear rubble, they found that many of the gaps already had crude crossings constructed. Their endless hike was no less treacherous during the night, however, and still the arrows of exiled tribes occasionally found their tents in the darkness.

Cendra considered their changing situation, the dire state of their supplies, their progress, all in the vain attempt to avoid the gaze of her mate. If she appeared lost in thought, perhaps Clin would stop glancing over at her. He did not.

Hardly two men could march in the empty space between them, though it felt as if they were parted by a vast valley. She had watched the others among the camp. Back when the days were cold and the nights colder, she had seen how Anthara frequently wrapped Lalian and their child in her wings for warmth. Each day she saw how Vixin tended to that quiet girl of hers, Yisi. Each night she glimpsed Nafalya and Lord Hesin stalking like shadows through the tents, hearing the smallest hint of concealed chuckles as they whispered cruel words about those around them together. Their suffering forged her family closer, lovers at each other's sides, young princes becoming brothers, yet what of her? Though she led her knights to defend against ambushes, she always found her bed empty.

A glance accidentally caught his eye, and she looked away with a scowl.

The mountain pass curved around a grand peak, bathing the legion in shadow. When they emerged into the light, they were at last met with the sight those that had fallen would never see.

There, stretching out into the distance far below, the endless sea of black sand came into view. High atop the tallest mountain chain, they peered across the many remaining miles of ridges and summits to glimpse the desert they had sought.

Cendra beheld the land of dark dunes for the first time, awestruck, seeing clusters of vivid color dotted across the sands. An alien and bizarre world stood before them, just out of reach.

Her father stepped forth to loom over the sight of all he sought to conquer. At his back, so too did Clin appear stunned by the view. Frozen in place, lips parting, the blond warrior beheld what had stood upon the other side of the mountains that had dominated the landscape of their home his entire life.

Cendra stared as if the future was whispering to her upon the wind. The black sands beckoned, demanding the fist of a conqueror.

The shadow of her father stretched across the rocks ahead as she dared to reach out at her side. It was a fragile act, fingers brushing Clin's hand, easily swept away if he desired to. Neither looked away from the view. The gap between them lingered, yet he returned her touch, grasping her hand.

Her lips were stern, her gaze straight ahead, though she squeezed him tightly. Together they beheld their fate. She felt the warmth of his touch, hoping it would stay.

When at last his grasp loosened, she felt his fingers slip away.

***

"The land of our enemy," Anthara said with a shake of her head. "I had always hoped I'd see the desert. If you would have told me years ago that I would spill Arkos blood at the side of humans, I would have had you whipped for speaking nonsense."

Lalian could find little humor in the remark, though he nestled against his bondmate nonetheless. Sitting among the royals around one of the grand fires burning in the camp, the sun had long since fallen. Orange had bled across the sky, ushering in the night.

They could see nothing but a vast darkness stretching out ahead, though Anthara continued to glance over regardless, as if she could see the desert in the dark void below. With the temperature steadily rising, she had once again donned her traditional golden loincloth with pride. "How many Lanthians lay dead beneath those dunes? They raid our cities, and we attack them in return. They spill green blood, and we spill purple blood." Her tone grew somber as she glanced down at her son, seeing Lalian The Younger resting in her arms. "I suppose those days are done now."

"Maybe that's worth a person's soul," Clin spoke up, gazing grimly into the fire. "A few bad deeds for peace. A betrayal of who you are for the greater good. Isn't that why we serve?"

The others sat quietly, offering no reply as Anthara held her son closer.

An awkward silence lingered until they saw Salduin approaching. The big man's heavy steps came with a swift urgency. After a bow of his bald head, he regarded Clin, Cendra, and several of the royals. "We've all earned the right to enjoy a night this peaceful, though unfortunately I must shatter it. Hesin's Truthseekers brought something back from a scouting excursion."

"Is something wrong?" Vixin asked.

He waved his meaty hand, urging her and Yisi to sit back down as the others stood to follow. "No need to concern yourself. Rest. If you'll tend to the children, I'd be grateful." Remembering he was in front of others, he continued. "Your majesty."

Though Yisi offered her a skeptical look, Vixin remained as Cendra departed her side. The Lanthians, Quinla, Prince Fonax, and King Galis followed the large man through the camp.

"Routine, orother," Clin asked quietly as he joined Salduin's side.

"Other." He regarded his old friend with a hard glance. "His holiness shall join us shortly."

As they walked through the night, Clin took in the miserable sight of the camp. Rumblings of complaints were muttered among groups of exhausted legionaries. Mere months ago, the armor of their recruits had been pristine, newly forged. Now their cloaks were as dirty and ragged as the loincloths of slaves.

Long had he seen a divide forming. Men and women that had served The God Emperor during previous conquests had no stomach for complaints. They had faced death at the side of their ruler more times than they cared to count, carrying scars from the distant lands of the northern kingdoms and the horrid depths of The Lanthian Jungle. They told grim tales amongst themselves, while the new recruits formed into separate clusters. Having experienced no victories of their own beneath their ruler's command, the once fresh legion whispered doubts in hushed voices, wondering if they'd be the next corpse to be left behind.

Clin should have been among them. He should have spent the journey uniting the veterans beneath his command with the masses of new recruits. Instead, he served his duty to lead the legion's march behind The God Emperor each day and sequestered himself among his doubts at night. Even when he sat among the royals and his Knights, much of his mingling was with thoughts of Cilith.