Land Beyond The Hurricane: Rise Of The God Of Death

By Yama-2, The God of Death

In a tent situated in the heart of a war camp, a man in a black hoodie sat, his face concealed by the darkness cast by his hood. His legs were crossed, and his humongous, dark blade hung menacingly at his side. In his hands, he idly fiddled with a dagger, waiting for his captains to arrive.

As he removed his hood, the flickering candlelight illuminating the room was suddenly snuffed out by an unseen force. He smirked, knowing exactly who it was—the Commander Impious Bodyguards.

One of the guards stationed at the entrance of the tent stepped in and announced the arrival of the captains. With a simple wave of his hand, he granted them permission to enter. Captain Hasin was the first to step in, followed by Captain Nashrala, and finally, Captain Fatha.

The three men took their seats after receiving a subtle gesture from their commander. They sat close together, nerves running high. For a few moments, silence prevailed as they studied the man before them. Their gazes lingered on his chest, searching for the steady rise and fall of breath. Some even focused on his neck, hoping to glimpse the faintest sign of a pulse.

"Umm... General, forgive my frankness, but you are dead!" Captain Nashrala finally broke the silence, his words hanging heavy in the air. The tent was plunged into an even more awkward silence.

Captain Nashrala was a towering man, his muscular frame well-proportioned. He wore the red attire and turban of their army, his bold demeanor barely concealing his unease. "No... I mean, you should be dead," he corrected hastily, realizing how his words had sounded. "We all saw you die. Even the best darkling healers confirmed it."

Darklings—mages who wielded dark magic—were considered an abomination. The powers granted by Chaos were feared, deemed unnatural and unholy. By contrast, those who channeled magic from Peace were revered, their abilities labeled pure and righteous.

"You all saw me die, and you all saw me rise. What more is there to say?" The General's voice was steady, unshaken.

"All that should matter to you is that I am alive! You are Captains of the Chaotic Fiery Army. You have seen countless men die and have slain even more. You have pillaged, burned cities to the ground, sacrificed, and raped. Is witnessing the dead rise truly such an anomaly to you?"

He let the weight of his words settle before continuing, "Now, let's leave the past where it belongs. I was dead, and now I have returned. Our focus should be on the campaign. Speaking of which, I was informed that you issued a retreat order. Why is that, Captain Nashrala?"

"We saw you die, so we ordered the army to retreat," Captain Nashrala responded, his voice firm.

The General narrowed his eyes. "Captain Nashrala, do you wish me dead that much? If so, I will wish the same for you—except for me, it will not remain merely a wish."

"General, we ordered the retreat, which was set for tomorrow, because the army had no leader," Captain Fatha interjected, stepping in to relieve his friend of the commander's scrutiny. "And besides," he continued, "the Sisterhood has fortified Fort Mandadah with their best mages. Our army lacks the resources for a full-scale siege. We are too few in number to completely surround the fortress, leaving us vulnerable to reinforcements."

"The enemy receives fresh supplies daily while our soldiers camp out here, starving. The besieging army is running out of food, General." Captain Fatha, a tall, slim man with a beard streaked black and white, spoke with a mixture of shame and frustration.

For six months, the Sisterhood had refused to engage them directly, opting instead to reinforce the fortress with an army three times their size. Their troops never left their walls, except once—to destroy the army's siege weapons and further reduce their numbers. With no way to surround the city and lacking siege weaponry, the Chaotic Fiery Army was left to languish outside the fortress walls, waiting for the inevitable final blow.

However, that final blow never came. The Sisterhood saw no need to eliminate them completely. Their mere existence served as a reminder to the kings and lords of the continent—an unspoken threat that kept them in line.

Once, the world was consumed by war. Kingdoms clashed, lords waged endless battles, and bloodshed reigned supreme. Then came the whispers of diplomacy, a message of peace that spread across the land. It taught the people that war was not the only means of conquest. It also declared Chaos to be humanity's true enemy—the true threat that needed to be eradicated.

This revelation united the world against Chaos and his army of Darklings. Even with the combined might of every kingdom, they could not halt Chaos's advance. For thirteen years, war raged on, sparing neither women nor children.

Then, at the brink of humanity's annihilation, the mages arrived—beings capable of wielding magic. Their presence rekindled hope among the Allied Armies, and together, they pushed Chaos's forces back.

Even so, total annihilation of Chaos's army proved impossible. They were merely driven back to the place where their conquest had begun. This retreat became known in history as the Great Push. In the aftermath, the kings and lords struck a deal with the mages, granting them influence over the realms by appointing mages as royal advisors.

From that moment on, the Sisterhood expanded its control, embedding itself into nearly every kingdom on the continent. At first, some kings and lords resisted. But under the mounting pressure of potential invasion and political threats, they eventually succumbed to the Sisterhood's rule, agreeing to their unfavorable terms.

The truth was, the Sisterhood could have destroyed the army of Chaos entirely. They chose not to.

They needed a constant enemy, a shadow lingering on the edge of civilization. A reminder of what the world had once suffered. A justification for their control.

Not part of the chapter:

This is what they call diplomacy: fake deals that do not give you what you want; they always keep you unsatisfied. War is the best way to get what you want.

By Yama-2, The God of Death