User blog:MockingJester/Jade eyes

Lightning.

Thunder.

The darkest of clouds spawned about.

All of it gathered far from civilization. Well, as far from human civilization as possible. Or it would be, was the local wildlife not caught in a trance to the deeper chasms of the forest. It roars in every interlude of a set of minutes, gnashing at the sky around in bright light.

The storm mimics all of its siblings in shape, intensity, decibel, and warning. A symphony every storm is acquainted with.

However, this song of natural destruction adds a new note to its chant. The lightning is permeated with a jade hide, within and without. A song of rejoicing for the animals that once feared it, slowly returning to its side, free of its wrath as they venture deep. An event that sings a lullaby, unknown to those present.

"This storm again..." A man of reflected armor walks up to the panel of his window, his helmet standing by the table from which he stood from. A plate of dinner surrounded by side dishes permeates his side, many left barely touched by his fork.

He folds the gauntlets of his arms behind in a reflection of indifference "Well, it's a sight, at the very least. Didn't do much the last times it came to be. Another uneventful day ahead".

The man turns back to his table, pacing past it as he walks past the present servant equipped with a handkerchief by the door "Clean this up".

"Of course, sir" The servant bows down under the knight's wandering steps.

He walks further down the path alone. The concussion of his heavy boots follows closely all the way outside to a city bursting with citizens tolling in their hobbies. Statues littered about, depicting knights, priests, heroes. All gleaming in a marble flesh of ebony purity coated in gilded and shining armor and robes. Their facial features, flawless, utterly flawless. Heroes of the Order, to which the people present look up to as they bow for a simple prayer.

The man smirks as he walks past the statues, each over a pedestal etched with the famous sigil of the order, directly over another symbol of a silver cross, the same color the guards keeping a vigil over them have on their armors. The same the man walking has, shiny and reflective like the rest "I see the effigies of our lords are as radiant as ever".

His silver eyes draft from the idols ever admired by some of the mass. From those standing back uttering a small whisper in their names to the closer ones bending the knee to bask in their glory, the idols leave no one indifferent, all chanting in their glory.

He turns to another individual dressed in a familiar tone, robes permeating most of his body with a silver lining surface of armor. A heavy mace rests on his side as well as a tome on the other side, quick to pivot in the walking man's direction "Greeting, my liege".

The armored man halts in his steps, raising one of his hands from behind his back "At peace, priest". His words prompt the robed man to take up slight leniency on his pose while vigilant toward the knight's question "So, how went the relocation effort?"

"Unknown status, my liege". The priest turns to the tempest from afar "This recurring phenomenon has somehow cut all conversation from the escort team".

"Really?" The knight raises an eyebrow in doubt, his voice reflective in a monotone "This has never been a problem despite its...unwelcomed presence".

"I am aware, my liege. Our mages have attempted to isolate the source of this storm. All they could glean about it was the increased sighting of those jade eyes far in the unsettled lands".

"Jade eyes..." The man in armor ponders, contemplating. Jades eyes, a hidden gaze in the day mirrored to a dread glare in the darkness of the night. Attached to an ethereal shape, gliding about, covered by the forest's myriad of shelters. How they peer into those that they spot, pouring particles out of their shapeless orbits.

The man nods "Yes...these eyes. We have scarce records of spotting a few wandering in the forests and beyond. Was the notion of one pair reported among the escorts?"

"A few words about them, why--

"Then I must go!" The man encases his head under his helmet, taking a sprint away from the puzzled priest only raising a hand in the expression of this bewildered state.

The knight further runs ahead, rushing for the gate where a spectacle of guards are posted, looking out the horizon. As he passes through them, he orders "You lads! Come with me!"

"My lord?" One of them calls out, likely the leader, judging by the thin gold outlining on his armor, quick to follow the armored man in a greater decoration of his armor, daring not to dress beyond lines of gold and ornaments.

"No time! We must go! Now!"

The leading guard turns to the rest, waving his hand in an order to follow. Breastplates of armor run after the duo, now on horseback, far from the city. A massive plate of silver decorated by surrounding gold, words inscribed at the heart in a different tone: The Bright land...

The horse' stampede relentlessly kicks mud and stone throughout the journey, riding under the riders' silence. The leading man is assaulted in thought by the possibility an escalation. One that the following guards dare not to question, blurred in ignorance. The horses' heavy breathing remains the only source of sound coupling with their hooves.

Until even that stops at the end of their travels. "By the gods..." The main knight stares in confusion at the aftermath laid bare. Horses disturbingly calm while bearing no masters, left to consume the nearby grass by the trees, the link to caravans cut away by no bite, no slash.

"What happened here?" whispers the leading sergeant guard. A witness to about half a dozen men laying by trees, laying by the broken vehicles, their armors destroyed, their conscience, gone. Vital spots punctured and marked by blue points of entries.

"The jade? Did it do that?" The man in front ditches his horse to hunch near a downed man. He touches the cuts inflicted on his hunched back, seeing the 'wound' spread to his fingers, tempting to absorb his own mana and spreading it out of them, forcing him to reel out.

"Well, it wasn't all that important, after all". The leader turns to the rest of the men "It would seem my alert was unfounded. Our men are still around, even if disabled. Bring them to their horses, we are to return".

"Yes, sir!" The guards begin crouching to the defeated, carefully taking hold of them as to avoid making contact with the still weeping spirit wounds keen on gorging on fresh mana. The leader watches them do their tasks, crossed at arms as he glances over the wreckage.

"What a shame those poor, poor lads hadn't made it". His tone comes off as derogatory feeding a false sense of concern amidst the chorus of agreement from his men in their task.

One comes off as more dissonant than the rest "Spares us the extra work, really. Not like any of us would even bother with them at this point".

"That is...a really good point. A point to drive home was the jade entity still lurking upon our arrival".

"Assuming we wouldn't just ditch 'em and pick our fallen comrades" adds another.

"Well, all done is done, I say" The leader turns to his men, well-intended on mounting his horse "As far as I'm concerned, we are finished here".

"Very well, sir. Our fallen are repatriated. We may return--

Silence. The man is stunned. His men are stunned. The horses seem unfazed, however. Their eyes fill with the fleeting light in the corner. A green light, circulating further ahead. One divided into two.

Eyes. Jade eyes.

"Well...I'll be..." The leader is mesmerized by their movement, left and right. Then stopped. Looking back at them. A subtle change occurs in each's spatial surrounding, a personal one.

"It's...looking back at us, sir", notes one of the men.

"Yes, it observes us as we observe it".

Seconds pass, enabling the mesmerized gaze of the cohort taking on momentum. They move slowly in its direction, letting no detail escape their sights. As they do, they note further details. The shape of the entity. It looks humanoid despite its translucence. Arms, legs, they are visible, though that is as much as it allows them to see. Its hands and feet remain out of sight.

Looking further, they describe what looks like an attire covering it. A strange thing to see a spirit wearing, even less the hood it sees to bear, considering the complete lack of facial features, save for the gleaming eyes. They which that pour particles in a controlled manner.

They stand close to it, the leader, closer. He disembarks his horse, seeking an audience with the entity, the latter now fixated on him. Its world is on the man.

He raises a hand to it, noting the shift in its eyes, following his limb in motion.

"My liege?" A worried tone beseeches the sergeant.

"I know, I know. I'm just..." The man lets his sentence hang incomplete, continuing his hand's movement at the entity, close to touching it. Its eyes continue to catch his focus. A gentle chime peering from them. A benevolent gaze from behind the hood. The spirit breathes kindness, one among many, which were noted to 'guide' individuals lost in the forests via walking away in a deliberate manner, attracting the attention of the lost and compelling them to follow.

He 'touches' the entity by the shoulder, briefly imprinted with an overwhelming sense of peace, or nurture.

And then...

Its eyes change. No subtle shift, but a violent one. The benevolent gaze it gave turned to a visage of scorn. One that the leader could feel even as he could not hope to see it.

The eyes flare in response, burning the surrounding air in a jade ambiance, a jade sky.

"W-what is happening?" begins to panic one of the guards as the cohort draws their weapons.

"I don't know..." the leader backs away from the jade spirit, his own sword of illumination out, pointed against it.

Further unnerving them is the deep shriek it gives back, with what looks to be a jagged revelation of its visage. The shrieks turn to a chorus of chants, its 'voice' joined by another. A banshee howl, surrounding them. Over them, Behind them. Before them. Besides them.

They move in discord, looking desperately for anything moving. The trees? The bushes? Someone is here, someone is watching, someone is moving, and they can't hope to know.

But then again, it didn't matter. The jade moves its hands upward, seemingly reaching for an object or looking to adore an idol. Particles seep from every bit of its ethereal shape,  gathering something into it, the dust flaring up.

They turn in anticipation, awaiting an attack.

It was worse. Every bit worse than a mere spell or a curse.

The howling increases to the utmost limit their ears can endure, a deep feminine screech haunting them as a woman haunts their vision. A woman, bursting out of the shape made manifest by the jade's hands. A woman sporting armor cut and shaped to be the outward appearance of an exoskeleton. Every bit sharp and jagged, offputting for the men present in her vicinity. Worse still, while she adores human physiology, there is nothing for them to attach a woman too, for her appearance was but the bones she adorns. No skin, no flesh, no facial features. A bone helm in reflective color, insultingly close to their silver attire, as is her entire armor.

The eyes bearing her gaze are also shrouded by yet more bone shapes. Teeth poke out of the lower section where the chin should be, leaving only a pair of deep blue irises visible.

The flare dies down, the jade is gone, the female entity in its place. Her howling shift to a gaze. To none other than the leader, the focus of her world.

"My liege..." The guards move at his side, their spears pointed at her. A horrifying feature they discover as they move, the presence of a singular, large horn at the right side of her head, periodically picking up the deep blue gleam, peering in an ocean dye. The same rhythm as her eyes.

"I know..." The leader's hand tremble in his hilt grip.

"She's looking at you, my liege. Just like the other one, she is looking straight at you".

"I know!!!" He snaps with a rise of his elegant sword to defy the still motion of idleness that permeates the opposite groups.

Just barely in swinging position, the leader finds no sight of the female assailant. The bent grass on two distinct patches is the only way of acknowledging her presence, to begin with.

However, the defeated cries of his cohort falling around him give fresh evidence of her proximity. In fact, the female warrior now stood before him, alone in their standoff.

'What happened', his mind tried to puzzle together the events passing in mere seconds. The corner of his eyes gives him undisputable news of the men who followed him, all of them, downed. Some fell behind and before him, Others still were projected against the bark of trees.

Images flee in his eyes. The female warrior, all too keen on the beginning of hostilities by the rise of his blade, had acted by a thunder's clap. The first snap sees her impale the first casualty, the sergeant guard. The entombed blade had forsaken its physical silver, the particles floating near the hilt. A fluorescent mass had penetrated his armor.

His gasp made manifest as the realization cut close to him. Her blade sought not his blood, nor his flesh, but his mana. And it gorged on all of it, lifting the man helplessly into the air, his strength all too weak to allow retaliation. Her crash against the nearest tree had bucked the bark as splinters spread out.

Then, the rear. Two of them, cut at the feet, cut at the waist. The mana hemorrhage drained them of the will to stand or even keep their thoughts about, forced to an unwelcomed nap.

The left side, three of them. Three slashes made in one, with enough force to 'throw' them away.

The right side, another three. Their will to stand had withered. Alas, so did their armor under her blade, smashed to pieces as their spirit laid defeated, to wake up much later in the dark.

And then, her pose returned, much closer, the massive claymore resting on her shoulder. His arm still held high, awaiting the command to drop as the initial blow to the duel.

It drops behind the awed stare of the man, further gripping his weapon. His mana swells from his wrist, reaching the sharp edges of his extension, all while the female warrior watched on, unconcerned.

This ease grinds at his mind, but he has magic on his side. The magic of a blessed blade, able to shatter any unprepared oppositional weapon clashing with it. Her might is great, but even monsters can hope little without a sufficient weapon.

Grit forms on his face backed by renewed confidence. He spins on himself doubled by the blade's twirl, steps backing from her changed pose. A hand grasps empty air forward, leaving her other to carry the hefty two-handed weapon almost touching the soil.

With a greater shine, The leader blinks from sight for a second, reflected by the sun as his sword comes reeling in a downward slash "Bring your blade if you dare, monster!"

A clash of power entails as she swings her own upward. Shockwaves tussle at the grass, enabling his aerial momentum. A true battle of opposition lighting the surrounding.

And that was the problem...

"What?" The leader's eyes lie in perplexity "Her blade. Why is her blade not shattering?!"

And then, he sees it. Beyond the righteous gaze of his shining silver blade, was the monstrosity's own weapon. Crackling under a green hue. A green sharp reflection.

"Reflection? But that could only mean--

His hand scurries to move his weapon from hers. All too late. The accumulative force he had put on his strike, not to mention the spell 'shatter weapon' had all been devoured by the green hue of her blade and regurgitated back.

The remains of his sword spread all around the two as his own body suffers a concussive force by the rejecting, sending him crashing against a tree like so many of his men "Gahh!!"

His body falters forward, struggling to rise after this backlash. Another act that would never come to be. Pierced by the female warrior's blade, the leader is subject to the dissipation of his mana, left to bleed the precious energy via his heart, the puncture point of her claymore.

This severe and sudden bleed of mana sees his conscious slipping, his eyes gaining weigh, overwhelming his will to stick by the waking world. The departing sights of his eyes could only make out the female warrior approaching slowly, kneeling to his side. Her eyes were visible behind the bone helm and mask, azure stream hushed to bright pink. Her muscles lose their tension, appearing softer under the plates of bone flattery.

At her side, an amalgamation of green featuring jade eyes burning through the light of day already at odds with the storm further. It flickers in and out, its presence spreading outward. The attention of the female warrior is returned to it. She points upward and instantly, its influence rushes in the same direction. The leader, crumbled beyond the point of resistance, could only watch as her thoughts reverted to him, well intent on taking hold of him.

And yet, he could speak no words, all too weak. His mind, already put to sleep, for the time being, unable to deny the exhaustion of mana... --- His fleeting sight, nothing more than what seems to be a dreamscape. They fill his mind with true visions of the imaginary. A plate form merged from solid light and gassy clouds brewing with itself as the source of existence underneath him. The sensation of travel away from the current space. The sky turned from blue to a tearing brew of jade thunder.

Nothing more, as the mere act of observing places a strain on his empty reservoir of mana. Opening his eyes for an interval exceeding the ten-second span relapses him back to sleep. --- The leader awakes, an unknown span of time passed by. His body is in comfort like never seen "Ugh...silk. A dream?"

"No, not a dream" A voice softly travels from his left side, close by. A man sitting by his side. His body chiseled into a fortress of muscles even behind the humble stature of an average man. His pigmentation gives the impression of one enjoying sunbathing, judging by how easily the leader could see a Caucasian man beyond the tanned skin.

No top attire hinders his torso, revealing small but hardened abdominals, his lean build likely the reason for such humble sculptured muscles. A cloak adorns the top of his chest, decorated with insignias. A gray base color under emerald motives depicting 90-degree cuts.

However, the leader had become slightly uncomfortable at the sight of his host's eyes. A deep jade green, much like the creature that gazed at him with the intensity of blinding lights before the darkness of the warrior striking him out. Stranger still, his mask. A silver coating featuring the skull of a fallen and ancient beast, hiding every detail of the man's face save for his eyes all too human to be mistaken.

Finally, his silence is broken as he lowers his eyes on the host's hand. Another silver coating with the last finger off... "What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, this?" The host lifts it, allowing the leader to have a better look at it in wanton curiosity. Meticulously crafted, almost as if molded directly on his own. Encrusted with jewels and inscribed with peerless ornaments. Polished beyond what he could afford to his cohort's armors. Not an inch remains flawed, according to his eyes. One point he makes sure to drive home "Well, it's a ceremonial piece. Custom made. No other is like this one".

The host rises from his feet, revealing the tribal skirt he wears, a match with the cloak bore on his shoulder, both reaching to the man's knees and beyond, midway to the ankles "Come now, there is someone that wishes to meet you, sir Castillan".

He jolts "Casti--how do you know my name?"

"Don't be silly now, many know of your name. You do have a reputation as the man laboring to bring the sublime city under your direction to the Order's fold. Such a task will bring many to seek you out for various reasons. Me? As I've said, there is someone I wish for you to meet".

"Hum--of course. If this someone seeks an alliance, then I shall wander to them". Castillan bounces off the bed surprisingly rivaling the one he bears at home as if it follows the same spoken standards of the host's glove.

Regardless, he walks out, fully armored. Even the gaps of his attire feel no wind draft from the recurring damage following his defeat at the warrior's hands.

The host is quick to notice his guest re-direct his eyes to the armor he wears  "You were found stranded in the forest nearby. Those discovering you had noted several deep punctures. What happened out here?"

"You know of the jade eyes?"

"The spirits?" The host is quick to answer "Of course! Believe it or not, I've been repeatably mistaken for being one of them. The eyes are the main culprits, really. Which is why I've fashioned this fashionable wear on my head."

"I see...well, people must be impaired for them to make the mistake. Those things, they hide under what I attributed as a hood".

They walk from a humble hut of stone into a path of the same flesh. A lonely lodge, spacious enough to accommodate half a hundred individuals. The walk they make sets them to the entrance of what looks like a village. Assortments of stone and metal shaped as venerable cities. Obviously, Castillan had been brought to another city. One he could not recall no matter how many times he had traveled outside the Bright land.

"Indeed, they seem to do. It's recurring behavior for these gentle spirits to bear a face-hindering shroud. Although their presence is more than enough to ward off whatever danger stalks the lost and forgotten".

"Gentle?" Castillan raises an eyebrow "The one I met only displayed outer benign behavior".

"Really? Did you have a sour thought or intent at the time of visual contact? It is said they can decipher the people they gaze at just by the aura they display".

"Ohh...well, must have been the men I've searched for. Others that came to assist me".

"It's no wonder then. Rest assured, we've returned the fallen to your sanctuary". The man turns to Castillan, a different gleam of eyes in a recomforting gaze "However, time for us to put those thoughts away. We have arrived".

Indeed they did. Castillan has his sight gifted with a galore of civilization. Houses suspended over others by what looks to be emerald crystals reinforced with casings of gold. Statues littered everywhere held in reverence at public places. The stunning side, however, the children.

Children running anywhere and everywhere with unchanged characteristics. Their hair is a meticulous white, a perfect match for the chocolate skin they all seem to bear. Their girlish laugh, full of innocence and jubilee, ignoring the foreign wandering in their village with the attention of a city.

They run after each other with a pair sprinting close to the host in a frivolous game of tag. The two giggle as one passes around him while the other follows shortly, only for her to return as the former had taken use of the escorting man's leg as an obstacle "Hehehe, you can't get me here! You can't get me here!"

"Yea I can! Just you watch!" The second one begins to chase after the former as they constantly run around the host's legs like a game of musical chair.

The man didn't seem at all to be bothered by it, unlike Castillan's surprise to see the two seemingly unaware of the host's busy time. Hos escort places a hand on each of their heads, immediately attracting their attention "Now now, you two. As much fun as you may have, I have someone to bring around".

They nod in a sheepish manner "Yes sir!"

"Yes, papa!" Her childish behavior turns to the armored man, a curious inquiry to her eyes "Papa...who's that?"

The other child directs to him as well, a pout on her face. It seems like she's not too enamored with Castillan. Like children upon meeting strangers for the first time, he clings to the host's leg, her mouth partially hidden behind his tribal skirt. He places a hand on the second child as well as his own offspring "A special guest to be guided. Worry not, this won't take long".

"Ohh, ok" A smile adorns her tiny face once more as he sends the two to play further ahead.

Castillan was shocked, to see all of them were daughters. Daughters with a spot on their head, akin to a horn. A social stature, perhaps?

His host briefly turns to him "Very sorry about this little interruption. Children don't bear too much spatial awareness".

"Hum...sure" Castillan pushes away his thoughts and resumes his walk behind the host. One thing he couldn't quite ignore was the stares of the adults present. The men around, in the midst of their crops of artisan hobbies, had caught Castillan in their sight. Their eyes shine in the same emerald as his escort. Unlike his gaze, however, there are harsh, almost glowing in this alien resentment.

More still, the women as well, intrigued by the man beside them. Their oceanic glares, glacial. True hostility to this armored man, like twin shadows permanently staring into his soul.

Once again, the host speaks up "Once again, I must apologize. The people here aren't so fond of strangers".

"I can see that" comments Castillan, constantly looking back to be found staring at disapproving locals.

"Right this way, please". The host entices his guest to continue following. They walk away from one of the numerous settlements to a path featuring much fewer individuals. The light is dim, shrouded by the outside influence he can't quite spot. Here, his eyes lay on an unprecedented scene. Another woman in chocolate pigment kneeling over a massive pond, hidden with a silk mask. Her hands detach from what looks like a mummy, gradually sinking to the bottom of this. Another stands beside her, a hand on her chest. Her visage is one of a stern warrior in casual times. This very moment sees her discard the stoicism for one of worry. Her body shudders in idleness, remaining still despite the yearning to leap in.

"I understand how you feel, Kesha. I have been at the edge of where you stand at this very moment..." The veiled woman speaks words of comfort.

"I know...but, what if he drowns within? His grievous state doesn't allow him to draw breath so casually" The woman clenches her fists in frustration.

"He will not. Countless have bathed in the depths of this pond. My own has been projected to the confines of the sacred waters".

"I...understand" The designated Kesha remains vigilant, all too ready to dive at a moment's notice. All under Castillan's search for an understanding "What did they...? "What are they talking about?"

There is silence from the host as he merely points to the other side of the pond Castillan and his host, directing him to yet another brown-skinned woman, a clenched set of hands near the border of the river. Her position is as immobile as a gargoyle petrified by the light of day.

Her hands act with lightning speed, splashing water all around the marble floor. Her catch is unmistakable. Taken in a violent cough, the wrapped individual finds himself in the arms of a warrior woman as he had no struggle ripping out the bandages concealing his body.

Her voice is uncharacteristically peachy "Praise the goddess, you return to me!" He could not hope to spend any word to his savior, his collapsing arms to her side the best he could muster as an answer. One she is all grateful for "Worry not, beloved. I shall be by your side to the return of your strength".

Castillan watches this scene unfold with wanton shock. Her beloved? One she has left to dive in the green tide? He finds his sneering behavior recovering as he speaks of the sight "Tsk, this is how they treat the men around here? Sad..."

The host's walk had distanced the two, resulting in him sounding all too far to have heard this remark. Castillan resumes his march, taking on a more solemn way of pacing.

Their walk continues with no true sight to behold, though that does not last for long. Coming across another section of the tribal village, a sizable domain stands before the two. A banner waves at the top, decorated with silver. Light flows from the windows, indicating some measure of activities.

Castillan stops, intrigued by the mausoleum-looking building. He walks to a window, unprepared for the sight that welcomes him. Another man strapped to a chair. Well, not strapped, but held by a hand on his. Another woman sitting close, holding his hand in her own. Among the two is a third woman, veiling the lower section of her face with a silk cloth. Unfortunately for Castillan, the third woman's body obstructs him from fully sighting the man. All he could device was the telekinetic blob hovering beside her in a spherical shape.

"Are you sure you are ready for this? Your pain will be relived" asks the woman sitting by the attendee, slowly going for his held hand with her other.

"Yes...I am. You've been nothing more than accommodating to me, even in my sorry state. One of the few, in fact. If this the price to return the favor, then so be it". The man's head turns to she who holds his hand within hers, nodding subtly at her worried visage.

"Of course, my love. I will remain by your side as ever". Her hands clench on his, demonstrating the veracity of her words as the other approaches the man, seeping her own hands in the spherical blob.

"Do not worry, my sister. This one is ready to endure. I will make it as quick as I may. But, I will have to ask for this strength of character you muster, this task shall not be painless".

"Of course, you have it. Do it".

The veiled woman moves her hands out of the blob with a bit attached on her palms. Palms she presses on the man's obscured arm. Immediately, the course of searing pain assails the man, causing him to grit his teeth in pain, the little Castillan could see. Their voices are hidden by the softness of their tone, resulting in Castillan inability to afford to hear of their sayings, all to startled by the sight that dances before him.

The sight of a human being seemingly coated with heated metal on his arm with no way of waiting for it to cool. His shaking on the chair as the woman who previously held his hand in hers now stood behind him, seemingly keeping him in force with her arms overlapping his throat.

He turns away, disgusted by what he sees, away from the sight of the woman holding onto the one she had chosen to share a life in a frightened expression as he brings out every ounce of willpower to avoid giving in to the pain. Not holding him by force. Her arms, loose enough to avoid restraint. A demonstration of her presence peering through his enduring trial, a touch linking the two in a sea of searing pain...

He looks back at his escort, unsure of what to say or what to do. No matter what he might say, all Castillan saw was a man strapped to a chair being charred alive with searing metal held down by what he perceived as a loved one. Nothing the host could say would justify this horrid act...and it seems he had the same thought, his mind unable to put itself to words as to explain the necessity of this act.

"Sure...let's..." Castillan resumes his following of the escort, far away from this place, noting as he leaves the innumerable amount of lights across the windows. Many men are being processed as such. A question comes to mind about the veracity of this probable alliance.

They walk further, seeing the path narrow and darken, the source of this darkness emanated by an arch. A gigantic one, glowing with a pale green decorated in silver coated stones. Castillan's footing hesitates for a moment, unable to see beyond it. What was he to see? What unnerving behavior was he to unearth?

The answer becomes blindingly obvious as he crosses the arch, his eyes adjusting to the light shining through the place. An even larger land, the centerpiece of whatever city they walk on. Everything is bound to this place they consider sacred, judging by the amount of venerated statues. Statues of women in armor. A strikingly familiar armor featuring a single jagged horn. It and the eyesockets of the statues' bone mask glow in a deep blue. They are poised in an uplifting position, their claymores pointed at the heavens, the closest to the very center of the land.

Not far behind them, men. Statues of men, unmistakable. unlike the men Castillan had seen, their bodies bear an elongated shroud over a suit of armor, much more light-looking compared to the women. Littered with runes, they cast their hands forward, seemingly pointed at an individual female statue, their palms glowing in dim light, was he to observe carefully. So did their eyes, behind the mask of a beast. Ancient or current. Carnivore or herbivore. Ram or hog, each have their faces veiled by the animal that adorns it.

The very center standing at a sizable radius is naught but markings of a forgotten origin, spiraling from each statue to the heart. The mix between colors of green and blue spawns a cyan shade, ever reaching to its center. Some men sit by the proximity of the middle, revering in a greenish eruption enveloping a brighter aura in a meditating pose. Others lay by what seems to be a snack bar. Cauldrons tended by more men pouring liquid and herbs in its depths and mixing the batch. Others still stand by a recipient counter, rushing to deliver consumables to hungering individuals. Women standby, some armored, some not by each other, speaking of trivial matters.

They stop. All of them stop. Their collective gazes turn to the duo that his Castillan and his host....for a brief time. Turned to the man bearing a dinosaur's skull, their eyes convey a warm welcome to another of their own, a respected member of this place, demonstrated by their joined voices "Hail be the patriarch!"

However, their warm gazes, their gentle tones and untroubled act to their hobbies turn volatile as they turn to Castillan. Scorn, hate, hostility, these are the projected sentiments to the knight staring back. At this moment, he couldn't help but notice the armored women's attire. He had seen them before. And the men as well. Their beast skulls, hidden in partiality by a hood. Actually, their animal masks were hidden by the shroud adorned on their heads, as some sort of spell had the beast faces hidden, leaving but their gleaming eyes to see. Deep jade eyes.

"Jade eyes...?" he whispers, ignoring the reflected hostility of the present since then returned to their occupation. They had seen the host, revealed to be the patriarch of this settlement lift his own hood as he approached Castillan from behind.

"The jade eyes. Spirits who wander the forests in search of the lost and forgotten. The consciousness of men seeking to lend aid to those lost in the wilderness, and the forgotten by their peers". His voice is different, deeper. Castillan had but turned, turned to a cowl with no feasible appearance under its darkness, but two burning eyes.

Castillan panics at the epiphany, a step back behind a flashing blade of his own, to strike the man. A futile effort as the blade finds to flesh to tear. The patriarch's silver hand comes to interject in its thirst for blood, clasping his fingers around the elegant weapon, facing the outraged knight "You're the jade spirit ?! That thing that shrieked at me and my men?!"

"Yes...and no. Let your eyes in this place, sir Castillan" The patriarch demands, his deep voice reverberating through the knight's entire body, prompting him to subtly glance his silver irises in a sweep. The men, they no longer bore a cheerful demeanor. All of them now bore cowls, hiding their facial features, periodically washed in a pale green tide throughout their bodies, suspended in their act, gazing back with the same eyes. Jade eyes.

"All of them..." he whispers, trying to remove his sword from the patriarch's silver hand coated in a solid mass of light around it.

"Every man you see inhabiting this sanctuary is of the same disposition as I. We share the same fate, the same powers, the same duties". The patriarch removes his fingers in a sudden manner, causing the armored knight to stumble backward, still clinging to his sword, charging it with nascent magic.

"Then the women..." Castillan sends a crashing wavelength of silver light towards the patriarch, the latter turned formless in green. The gleaming path of light passes through him without finding purchase on his body.

He swings again and again, under the myriad of eyes that gaze upon the confrontation. The men and women, none of them finds the need for worry. They see the fight for how one-sided it is, further encroaching in Castillan's mind with each swing that fails to strike the man who brought him here.

The last swing never leaves the arch, held close by a hand. Another silver hand in a thicker shape. A voice comes to his ear "Did anyone tell you it was rude to swing at your host?"

Castillan can barely turn before a fist comes smashing the side of his helmet, sending him flying through one of the innumerable pillars present. It brittles and collapses in tiny pieces just as his helmet follows the same fate, unable to cope with the overwhelming trauma suffered at the side. His face is spare, but only just. Pain assails the side of it in no permanent damage. A blow to shackle his attention.

"Husband..." The woman striking at Castillan turns to the patriarch, her eyes and voice shedding any hostility it breathed against the recuperating knight "...Is this the individual that bears the insignia of kingship among this 'Bright land'?"

The patriarch unmakes his formless shape, the dark hood rescinded by his ancient beast mask, once more peering through with his jade eyes "Yes, this is the one from the last scourge, he who brands it as a 'relocation effort'".

"Really..." Her eyes are diverted from Castillan, the latter having barely recovered from that stroke, his weapon swung at her way. "I see..." Her massive claymore hacks downward, snapping the wavelength of light in half, dispelled and disintegrated.

Before a reaction, Castillan feels yet another traumatic puncture, this time going for his breastplate. The kinetic force sends him spiraling through another pillar, this time, smashing it completely with him as a projectile, crumbled in pieces of his protection. The matriarch stands in motionless aftermath of her jar, still avoiding a direct stare.

The place remains eerily quiet, broken by but the gasping struggles of Castillan striving to get himself back on foot. He is aided..by the same woman who had put him here, a hand clenched on his throat forcing him up.

Choking, but not quite, he swings from the left. His hand becomes the third target, held midway by her own. A buzz swirls from her helmet, the center of his worldview. Metal after metal slides down, up or in-between, revealing another visage. A peerless one mirroring azure eyes unlike the oceanic irises of the rest. Her singular horn is as jagged as the rest, decorated with an olive leaf soaked deeply in her own shade of eye and hair.

His feet hover beyond the ground, faced with a seemingly emotionless stare. Her voice betrays this serenity "So this is him...the tiny morsel who now bears the responsibility of turning our men, our halves...those who bear the secondary tasks as well as watching over our hunt, our walk, our battles, everything...into jibbering messes a foot in the grave".

Castillan could barely understand her wording, his hand still attempting to will its way through her grasp "Tsk...what--are you--talking abo--

"Quiet!" Her grasp presses on his wrist, evident of a crunch of metal.

"Urhh!!" The impromptu act following her voice of absolute order leaves his arm it itself, resonating on the marble floor. His starvation for air is also briefly amplified.

"Do you know how many of my kin suffered through this ordeal you had them put through? Can you measure to pit of despair each of us had been trudging, holding to the life of those who would grant us offsprings?"

Castillan couldn't answer, all too focused on the battle to avoid complete strangulation. Yet the matriarch could see the confusion in his eye, unable or unwilling to search his memory to read through the nuance of her word. Her hand releases him to the floor, causing his fall on his knees. Her eyes move from him, turned to the patriarch. Sorrowful eyes. Shame and regrets, veiled from Castillan.

He understood the measure of such a stare, much more the hand reaching for him. He walks toward her and the downed knight, a series of click from his mask. A metallic revelation from those doubting the material of its production.

By the time of his close in, Castillan had just regained control of his breathing. The outrage stems from his voice following the grasp of his sword "What manner of incomprehension are you talking about, you horrid amazon?! I do not remember going against those second citizens you would call husbands! You already show the steps of doing those yourselves! But then again, I wouldn't expect one such as you to--!!"

He reels in disgust over the sight he is given. A man standing before him, between him and the matriarch, without a helmet, garnished with a scar across the left side of his face. His silver hand, long having shed its metallic counterpart, hovering around it with a pleading trembling to return at the limb's side. A sizable scar erupts from the wrist to the hand, permanently coated in a darker color as if once serving as a reference of a lost appendage.

"What's wrong, sir Castillan? Forgot your 'handy work'?" speaks the host, a voice strikingly reminiscent to the knight.

"Laurent...Laurent? Laurent?!" The epiphany comes as yet another blow to Castillan.

The patriarch revealed as Laurent sways his hand to the rest of the men present, all of them under their metallic augmentation, calling their names with each pointed "Mory. Louis. Charlie. Steven. Vincent. Xavier. Only to name a few. Do you remember their names?"

Castillan dares a glance at those present, the males. The 'relocated'. Their fates "No..."

"But it is indeed. Do you remember the parades you held in the halls of what once was our city? The shackles you branded to us. The casting stones of the people, looking down on those down on their luck. I remember. The way you had forcefully removed my hand even as I hadn't pleaded for my cause. How you tried going for my eye for the crime of speaking my case. Falling on hard times with all the repo you had initiated on us, casting those who couldn't endure this plight away with violence".

"No..."

"And then, those who do not bear the selective appearances you wish for all to follow. Perhaps was it not a flawless visage. Perhaps a limb slightly out of shape. Or was it the need to 'clean-up' for the arrival of those emissaries".

"Emissaries?" Castillan shakes further in his weapon's grasp.

"You know what I allude to, sir Castillan. The emissaries of the cities from beyond, coated in gold and worship. Those that continuously seek alliances and oaths of fealty. Those statues you've built for the people to worship and revere. Those that don't take kindly to a different shape of man".

Laurent takes a straddle around the marble floor, ever-looking at an incredulous Castillan "You remember now, don't you? Cutting us, shacking us, humiliating us and then driving us just for the capacity of licking the boots of others who will look upon you as you did to us. And then...you have the nerves to call our wives miscreants. Those that came to us at death's door. Those who came, as a singular entity, drawn to one in particular".

"Amazons, going for males in a goal divergent to the need to keep slaves in shackles...have you forgotten the teaching of our warning to the other kind?" Castillan was tempted to let a laugh out if only his throat didn't respond in pain with each word uttered.

"The results lie in front of you, do they not? The jade eyes as you call then, bearing untold powers, rested in each of us in the shape of a projected consciousness. Each of us pulled from death and bleak thoughts by their hands. Plunged into the mending tide to its depths by their hands, only to be recovered on the other side, by their hands still. The branding you saw as an atrocity, a re-forge of the limbs you and those surrounding you so callously chopped away while spitting on us. Tell me, would one of them be forcing her own in a chair if she was sporting a face of unrelenting worry?"

"Worry? Is that what you call it?"

"Have you ever witness a crying woman? It that an alien sight for you? Yes, applying the means to further regrow the broken limbs of an individual via a painful act is a surprisingly reluctant necessity for them...and us. But, let this not distract us from the broader horizon. They fed us, rebuilt us, and when we were estimated to be ready, trained us. Bestowed the very tides of healing with a flicker of a finger, as to make each of us a guardian of a singular one of them. And thus, did the winds of fate brought two of us together in a bind of our union".

Chants begin to sprout from anywhere and everywhere, vigorously cheering in a mix of a chorus under tribal tones. Weapons clank against the floor, greaves of armor and beasts stomp on the same in an erupting fever.

Laurent walks over to Castillan, the latter trying to swath at him with his glowing weapon, his vigor returned. Only, the flesh of the patriarch disallows such strikes, phasing out in every swipe, standing near the shivering knight "But you wouldn't see that, would you? Just as you see the deformities in us, you see but the creature in them, susceptible to the edict of their reputation where the men carry shackles in confinement".

"Hmpf, I see dwelling in this place has made you subservient". The knight speaks those words with ire and pity. Alas, his words find no better on the patriarch's psyche as his sword fails to find solid mass to slash as the patriarch continues his approach. He knew better than one who has only just stepped in the Omega planar.

How easy it is to mistake the reluctance of combat for a sense of inferiority. The roles that they had been bestowed upon. As they were flayed, they wished not to inflict the same judgment on others, a way of thought exacerbated by their warrior counterparts. One avoiding the way of war may find himself bearing more tasks in the household with the limitless time on their hands, a habit they had taken to.

Over time, their guidance toward all matter of creatures via the projection of their consciousness becomes the centerpiece of their mender's edicts. A spell turning more and more instinctual, to the point of influencing the things around them with this second presence, a spell of a second thought, facilitated. The jade eyes, mistaken at every turn for true spirits, a facade for man, a facade for the monster, one kept alive by those dwelling in its machinations.

A spell turned to a casual thing, as easy as breathing for the jade men. This shine hovers over their warriors, one for one, as a guardian, a watcher for foul plays, the undiluted confidence they muster in those many would call subservient, worthless to their cause, as Castillan does at the moment.

Castillan ever backs up, suddenly finding himself at the edge of the plane. A sight he only now sees. Beyond the earth that he is used. A sight of countless pillars of metal and stone, gleaming with an ancient power far from his knowledge. Clouds adorning the lower surface of those pillars, masking the soil that may be. The pillars themselves, crafted in gothic styles, reverence of older times, attuned with the sigil of omegas, reaching for the heavens in an elysian sky.

"This isn't the material plane". He spouts in stark realization. This distraction costs him, as a hand comes to grasp his throat, another surprise costing his weapon to fall in the cloudy abyss of this plane.

His feet no longer feel the ground, his eyes turned to the matriarch, the sky around turned to a crimson. She and Laurent remain placed on him, his struggle to avoid his fate of fall. "I think I've heard enough" Her hand clasps just enough to grab his attention "We are returning you to this place you call home. Just know...we are watching. Feel free to make contact with those from the revered sanctuaries. We shall return this kindness you've delivered to the fathers of our children in whole. So please...go ahead, instate their presence to this piece of land. I'm sure the animals, those away from your influence and the monsters inhabiting here in their peace will love to hear their arrivals. You can go on crusades to subjugate them, to kill them just to pretend to a sense of control. But we'll be here, as they will. Those who you flayed, to lick every wound you'll inflict, rendering this powerlessness sense back to you. Until then...remove yourself from my city. Now".

She draws her hand from his throat, replaced with a kick to his unprotected chest. His fall is nigh, puncturing the rest of his protection against an omega pilar before dropping like a rock. A gate swirls at the very bottom devouring his present from the pane known as the Omega planar.

Castillan is to be found devoid of his armor in tattered clothes on his own. Panic setting in, his call for the extermination of the jade eyes is heeded by those of the Bright land. None were to contact any of them, nor make an attempt. --- Silence fills the theater with everyone poised by sheer surprise. This is a first for those present, to witness someone kicked off the plane of their settlement. Were their masks faded from their faces, the rite's land would be littered with oddly surprised expressions.

The matriarch's eyes turn back to the cohort, a dubious expression, one replaced by the exhilaration in her voice "Well? What are you all waiting for? Remove your war appendages, this is supposed to be a celebration!"

She sprints to the nearest statue of an Amazon holding her claymore to the heaven with a clear declaration of de-escalation "Burn away those frowns and replace them with a warm embrace, this is a coronation of two!" Her fist reaches for the sky, slowly eroding the cohort's stunned poses. They look at each other, remembering the fated day. Every appendage of war, be it their masks, shrouds, armors, weapons or otherwise are phased out, the roaring chorus of a party spreading among the attendees.

The gates open in their largest capacity, allowing the utmost arrival of the planar's inhabitants. Men, women, and daughters alike converge to the venerated center of their land sporting their best attires. They forsake their silver ornaments and instead invest into ceremonial gold and crimson clothing given to them by men keeping the clothes as their tailors.

Further still, individuals with the responsibility of shifting the ink of the warriors stand by their post, tending to the lines of women awaiting their rune shifts. From an electrified blue, they drown the marking with a neutralizer before inscribing runes of the same genesis as their clothes, a crimson shade featuring spirals with the omega at its center.

Food, drinks, and entertainment awaits all. Even the men meditating as the pillars of gestating energy at the proximity of the absolute center are beseeched by their wives as they feel the generous bosom of the Amazon clinging to them from behind "Husband, the time to focus and mold has passed. Eat...~

"Well, I don't know whether--" One of the men, in particular, the victim of a light-hearted ploy. His head shifts to the left, only to be faced with a bowl of steaming stew, filled with mushrooms "Huh?"

~And drink...~ He turns his attention to the right this time, welcomed to a brew of cold berries, strawberries, and cherries blended into a cup, the cold aroma of ice permeating at the outer shell of the cup. His staff and helm mysteriously vanished from beside him.

He forgets the rift as his counterpart seemed insistent on taking all of his attention. A blatant display of that yearning as his head turns back to gaze at the altar in the center, only to be filled in his sight with the image and sensation of his wife sitting on his lap, her own set of food and drink by her side. A blush comes to her cheeks as she narrows the gap between the two ~...with me~.

Time passes, the storm surrounding them brewing at its strongest. The people had completely given in to the ambiance, between eating, drinking or running around playfully. in that case, the children.

"Halt!" says a voice, stopping anything and everything...save for the younglings hanging by the statues with a penchant for balance themselves.

They turn to the matriarch with buzzing ears for orders "The time is ripe! Our patron had stirred from beyond the heaven, ready to witness! Bring out the spouses!"

A gate flashes in bright green. A man and a woman step in and out. In between them, two more, hand in hand. The Amazon of age keeps close to the man beside her, his complete attire of jade imbued on his body, mask, shroud, body armor and all.

"Ohh, are we to perform the ceremony?" asks the young woman, eyes brimming with excitement.

"Quite so" speaks the slightly older escort "The matriarch need you and your strapping young spouse to see her".

"Alright!" the man rubs his hands, endowed in his cowl, speaking of a deeper voice under the effect of the hood "I've trained for this moment for long".

"Quite excited you are, aren't you?" The man at his side nudges at him, a whimsical smile to his face.

"Obviously! You know how long I've waited to play the double man around Theressa? All the time she spent trying to teach me to make use of these..." He hardens the plate on his reforged arm, the silver plates separating from each other to reveal a human limb underneath.

The two more acquainted look at each other, the woman giggling "He reminds me of you, husband. The way you apprehended our first~

"If that's the case, then the lad is in for quite the fire baptism. I Just hope he flows with it quicker than I took".

"Hmm...I forgot how unnerved you seemed for the first thirty minutes before your male friends had boasted words of encouragement".

"Hmpf, as I recall, they went with just a bit more than words. And give me a break, we were all unaccustomed to this procedure. If only you would speak of it in whispers in preparations".

~And spoil the fun?~

"Baptism?" the newlyweds ask, given muffled chuckles and giggles by their escort, the short way crossed in seconds.

"Ohh, don't you two worry about that". the experienced escorts speak in unison, as married individuals were expected to.

Their walk ends at the front of the silver pillars amidst the statues, where the matriarch was waiting, a warm but whimsical smile on her face. the audience of men, women, and children had assembled in seats, the platform on the marble floor risen by stages, as customs benches. Thousands assembled, all coupled by families, their countless eyes on the two.

The matriarch's arms cross, eyes bouncing between the newlyweds, both of them braced in their war panoply "I see you two are poised for this baptism".

"Yes matriarch, we have been anticipating this very moment" bows the young Amazon, her eyes gleaming through the silver mask, a hefty claymore clad to her back.

Her spouse bows, all the same, a fist colliding on an open palm, the same words following hers.

"Patriarch, they do look ready to demonstrate before the overlord..." She turns to the man gazing at the altar surrounded by three others. Her finger points up, to which he nods. He opens his hand to the altar, causing the rest of the three to amplify their aura, sending rays of the mixed shade of blue and green derived from the statues taking on their characteristics. The jade statues' eyes gleam in green as well as their hands and feet, washed over by a dim shade of the same color. The Amazons' horns dye in blue, as well as their eyes, the majority of this aura dying their stone claymore.

All this dense matter rips the sky overhead in a large tear. Unlike the power rushed to the heavens, the tear is crimson with the edges gleaming in gold, bleeding gilded particles all throughout the land of the rites turned to a massive theater. The men watch it fall like ornated snow with awe. The women bask in the warmth of the heat seeping from the wound in the sky. Children take the tun of gathering as many as they can, mesmerized by the disintegration of said flakes as they brightly spark in their palms.

Then,  a realm-shaking boom reverberates throughout the Omega planar. Deep red reach for the extremities of the gilded tear, violently spreading it all over the realm. The sky overhead and underneath where clouds veil the depths are all sheathed in the gleaming crimson populated by stars, the genesis of the tear turned blue.

Were any to gaze upward, they would see a celestial throne bearing a shadowy form. It bears a bright shade of blood irises as well as a jagged helmet, hindering the true sight if its face. Massive horns profuse from over and behind it, parading the omega sigil atop each extremity. Entirely armored, the distant eyes of red's shape still give off the delicate feature of a woman, sitting in the position of a vigil, its attention entirely beaming on the very altar and surroundings. The hands of this being rest on each armrest in a rigid fashion, yet devoid of hostility.

Laying by its side on the throne, A gigantic claymore bare by the reflection it sends to those daring a look. On the hilt, yet another omega symbol warped in celestial flame.

Hounds almost as massive as the entity straddle to its side, their canine gazes turn on the stage as well, the resonating enthusiast of earthly canine laid bare for all to see. They eagerly anticipate what is to happen.

The entity raises a hand in the manner of an emperor, the palm pointed upward, then forward, as if to give the stage to the initiates in a metaphorical sense.

"The goddess of war, Ares has spoken! The coronation commences now!" declares the matriarch to the overly zealously passionate crowd. The man part of this ceremony slams his hands together, brimming with restorative energies, eager to begin the rites of battle...or so he thought "Alright! I'm ready!" He turns to his blushing wife, the latter much more aware of what was to undergo at the altar of rites "Do not worry! No injury shall paint you as they painted me. I swear it on my life!"

"Ready to begin, are we? Her Majesty can appreciate that~ speaks the matriarch leading the two to the light of the deity's eyes.

"Well..." The young initiate whispers in blushed timidity "I didn't think we'd have a divinity looking at us in our first time..."

"Ohh, don't worry dear. It's always frightening the first time, but her Majesty is very well understanding. She just enjoys seeing her devoted made women by their kindred. You will see. Now, relax~

"A-alright then..." The timid Amazon walks in front of the altar, waiting on her husband, as does the matriarch "As for you, come meet your wife".

"Of course!" The man leaps to the stage, awaiting his new abilities to be pushed to the utmost limit in honor of this deity of battle. To keep one of her maiden warriors untouched. It was going to test them both alright. Not in a combat formality, however...

"Disrobe her".

The man's hidden eyes blink on in confusion, his the accumulated mana on his hands dissipated "What?"

"I demand that you disrobe your wife. Her armor, her helmet, her attire underneath, strip her bare of all".

"Hum, here? Isn't this a bit dubious? Should that sort of thing not be done in private?" asks the man in utter confusion, to the overwhelming amount of joy the matriarch gets from the confused glare of men asked to remove the cloth of their wives. Judging by the alien cooing some can pretend to hear, it would seem that Ares had the same amusement to witness their falsely perceived violation.

"No, it is not. You shall strip her in this very place. This, her Majesty demands". The matriarch grins subtly, gesticulating toward Monika, his wife "Go on. Her Majesty awaits to see her latest maiden's chiseled feminity".

"It's...it's alright Brent" she speaks, her hands sullen directly under her breastplate, adorned with a divergent eye.

The man, somewhat taken by this twist of events, raises his hands, endowing them with the strength nurtured over the months. They pulse once, reflecting the pulse on Monika's armor. Surely this confusion would be abated. It does not, a gentle hand tapping on his wrist "No, this cannot be".

"What?"

"One cannot be disrobed in such a distant fashion. Your hands will properly prepare her".

"But--but--

~Ah, ah, ah! No buts~ The matriarch shakes her head with a cooing voice "Your lady awaits~

The audience feels just about the same amount of enthusiasm the matriarch feels. A chorus of encouragements comes to chant form the men feeling like rousing the named Brent among them "Go forth, man!"

"She's waiting for you!"

"Yea, don't make your lady wait like that!"

"Come on, their patron gives you express permission!"

"Make her yours! Do it!"

"Do it!"

"Do it!"

"Do it!"

"Do it!"

The men rise from their feet, raising their fists in the air in unity while they chant the same dual words. All intended to foster courage from within the clearly embarrassed Brent unsure about letting his festered drive for his entwined sweet-heart and warrior.

Seeing all of them clamoring in his sake chinks his reason, his eyes turned on his beloved. Her helmet, discarded via a disintegrative feature on the attire, leaving her face exposed to all, with the excitation, the, and anticipation. Her lips part, glistening in their azure shade, hungering between breaths.

The runes she bears needed but a touch from her counterpart's hands left on her cheeks, quick to forget their task. Brent had forgotten how devised a woman of the bestiary kind was. Strong and rugged on the outside, toned and powerful on the inside. In an Amazon's case, her body is but a temple built to fight in the name of the goddess of war, to protect those that cannot shelter themselves and avoid the mindless bloodshed, as counted in their history.

However, his dear is not in combat, heralds no weapon and divides her mindset from the allure of battle. Her eyes and lips, wet in anticipation. Her cheeks, flustered in the same cherry shade as her own ceremonial runes, buzzing in an inaudible hum. No warrior, but a woman, a woman washed in her feminity.

The matriarch, as well as the horde of warriors present, can easily see this state of hers, the former pressing her husband in trance "Ohh, looks like all this time spent together has given you hunger for a well-honed woman, did it?"

"Wait, what--

"Ah, ah, ah! No words. Strip her. You shall understand".

Brent resumes, reluctantly removing his hands from her cheeks, far from the warmth dispersed by her visage. His fingers twirl around her braces to let them fall, followed closely by her breastplate. Even under the chorus of streamlined encouragement, the concussion it gives the floor upon falling reverberates loud enough to briefly cut a swath over the cheers.

Then her braces and her gauntlets, all fallen to the polished floor. Monika, the new attendee, deprived of her armor, stands with but the bare minimum, which happens to be a surprisingly modest set of bra and underwear.

Brent stops, unsure whether he had stripped her enough, bound by the self-conscious thoughts of a man born from without the tribe, a foreign to their culture. Perhaps he had done enough to leave her 'open' to be judged. Unfortunately, the soft touch of her cheeks still burns with the fiery passion of wanting more, born from a mixture of her runes and their time passed so close. Contacts between boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers and fiancees, before finally reaching the gap between husband and wife.

A loud ding resonates from high above, repeated in rhythm. "It seems her Majesty is craving for more. Perhaps would you press on?" The matriarch keeps her view on the two, Monika somewhat flustered at her womanhood just barely hidden all without manifesting the stark embarrassment to prompt her to seek appropriate attire.

Brent moves his hands to her bra's back, somehow mimicking the set of human women. The Amazons living in this domain do feel the need for proper lady's equipment with the generous portion of their 'assets'. It joins its kin on the floor. Her breasts bounce with the utmost freedom, a chain reaction reaching her cheeks in greater red.

And then...her underwear. Braced in metal, armored and malleable. A repulsion to many and all, a manifestation of refusal toward strangers...except for her husband. It quivers in place, damp and leaking through the silk, begging to be removed by his hands. Slowly he moves them like a surgeon seeking to avoid a rash movement under the silence of the crowd, all carefully watching as they stretch to both sides of her underwear.

With a cautious sigh, he pulls down, an immediate result from her feminity dripping on the bare floor. Her hands stand behind her back, comfortable enough to leave herself utterly exposed. Her previous embarrassment is shifted with quiet anticipation adorned by a smile. A heartfelt smile directed at her husband Brent. A monster's way of exhibiting herself to him. To show him how he makes her feel as an unclaimed woman.

"Oh my, what do we have here?~ The matriarch speaks as some of the caretakers of the place resume their hobbies such as handling food and beverages. Rhythmic individuals start beating on musical assortment, feeling the rites' doors truly open for business. Everything, from the music to the consumables, they all dance around the two, no moment of distraction turned from them.

"Our sister fiercely conveys her blossomed feelings for her ancient patient. And now, it is her turn to show them a little more explicitly".

Her hands are braced on Brent's shoulders, awed by the first sight of his beloved stripped completely to the nude. Her eyes diverge from him to the Amazon before them "Your turn sweety. Strip him~

~Ohh?~

"What?" Brent jolts in place, held int he same by the matriarch grinning in a coy smile.

"Come now, man of jade. Surely you didn't think you'd be the only one to make the effort of presentation to her Majesty, did you? Look at our sister. See her eyes? You've made her feel loved merely by taking her attire off, shedding her warrior's aspect to her Majesty. She just wishes to return this attention~

A blazing sound comes yet form the sky once more, as all who lift their eyes are presented with the war deity slowly swaying her hand in rash approval before strongly putting her palm back on the throne's armrest, poised on it as if to expect more.

"Ohh, our patron approves. Let us not keep her waiting. My dear, strip him. Make sure not a single piece of silk remains on him~

"Yes, ma'am" Monika's face is gentle, sweet. Her hands go for his shroud, hiding the ever confused expression of the man before her, the latter since long left alone by the matriarch. Slowly, she pulls the cowl behind, revealing his personal beast mask. The hardened hide of a peacock adorns his head, encasing it utterly via arcane knowledge. Monika quite easily removes it, pressing on a tiny spot behind his neck, where a rune lays. The spot she had put when molding the headgear to gift him with.

The first thing that meets his unveil eyes is the face of his warrior sweetheart lunging at his lips for a kiss, repressed since the start of this coronation. His surprised emerald glare turns to a tender looks, arms resting over her rump while hers grow restless as they continuously take away his outer shell, smithed among them by his hand as every husband to an Amazon. Every piece removed is a boon to her physical feelings mirrored in a sloppier kiss, which he gracefully takes, forgetting the thousands of eyes watching for the time being.

They pant furiously, the animalistic passion of the embrace leaving the two wanting more, much more, especially Monika by the last shred of her inhibition. She didn't mind how many watched, be it one, ten, a hundred or a thousand. All she sees at this moment is her husband Brent. The one to make a woman out of her before her patron goddess.

He who mended her every inquiry, physical and psychological as a promise to return the time she spent. A man who understands her feeling, her struggles.

A man who bears the trivial matters as to allow her to fulfill her warrior's call. The one she fell in love with, banded with a ring of his making.

He is the only one she sees, the only one she allows to embrace, the father to her unborn children. Everything else is but darkness and blurs.

A feeling shared en masse by every single Amazon warrior attending her deflowering rites, beyond the comprehension of those who only scratch at the surface. Where they see men as victims and prisoners of a life unwanted, acting as lesser citizens, they see them as those centered around the support they weren't allowed to grant by the cards drawn in their hand, far from the trauma that once had them placed in death's door. For none will accept the service of mundane hobbies by another. Food. Recovery. Repairs. Advice. And so much more. Unless, of course, a congregation occurs such as the coronation of two, where many will join hands to make many things, where their consensus is whole.

Is it a wonder, then, that those taken under an Amazon are so easily convinced to take their spot with wanton alacrity before even considering departing under the presumption of slavery and misery?

The matriarch approaches the two and gazes at their eyes. Swollen. Monika has her womanly parts moistened by the relentless touches, dripping down her legs. A sight very pleasing to the matriarch as well as those in the stadium. They cling to their own men, their hands joined over their own privates, clearly reminiscing of their first times and times leading to this moment. The childless ones feel it much more strongly as they have brought no daughter in the world, the thought of bedding the man who wraps them in their arms an undeniable one.

The children, either busy playing with their pets or watching the display as it was common for kids to attend as well were mesmerized by what they saw. The face of the Amazon especially struck at them, as it was a rare sight for them to witness a full-fledged warrior shed the stern glares to replace it with a woman's delight. Most of them would run to their parents, questions in their minds, as well as the hope of finding someone who one day will make they feel so desired for.

The matriarch herself was feeling particularity hot while retaining her composure "That is...that is quite the intermediary performance you two have wrought~

Monika looks at her matriarch, snapped out of the trance in a pant "Yea...I...I didn't think it would be that soon..."

She keeps herself merged in her Brent's arms seeking more. Disappointment is clear in her voice, as the embrace served only to further ignite her hunger.

"Worry not...little one. This, this is the main act you step in. I needn't telling you to be ready".

Her eyes turn to Brent who sights in relief under the cheers of his fellow, with others telling him to brace himself. An opinion he was well to take beforehand as the matriarch's voice now lines to his ears "You have done well...to please your muse and our Majesty..."

Her words are laced with pants, reverberated by the clank of the war goddess' massive claymore so high in the sky. Clanks of approval seconded by the yearning for this spectacle to cross into the main event.

He smiles a gentle one "It's easy when that special someone is near most of the time, the ability to learn from each other a heightened boon".

"Your word brings satisfaction to our Majesty. But, now, she asks for but one more thing".

"Name it".

The matriarch looks at the altar, seeing a compartment rise out of the well of mana concentrated in a circle. Its rectangle shape allows the body of a full adult to sleep on it, should one wish to, although the solid marble source of it would make for discomfort. No, it's purpose lies elsewhere a more...intimate one.

"Mate with her". Her voice comes as a whisper, at least in the eas of Brent.

"What?"

"Mate. With. Her". His outside view had returned in full force at the mere suggestion of letting loose his bottled desires for the warm flesh of his wife, the latter shining in blushing eyes at the matriarch's words.

"...what? Hold on, what?"

"You which control the jade..." She coos him, versed in the art of breaking down the moral of an outsider becoming one of them, each word punctured into his mind as intended "...will take the hand of one of our battle sisters, to lead her into the centerpiece of the land of rites and vigorously feast on her virgin flesh under the eye of our patron with the meat rod that salivates on the floor you stand".

"Huh? Sali--" Brent glances down. Somehow in the debate of their watery kiss, under her hand busy with removing any obstacle to his chiseled body, he had failed to notice his manhood risen and hard as diamond, pulsing with said hunger every time he dared glance at his own warrior wife. So much was this greed for her unclaimed territory that his 'shaft' had already begun leaking with the induction of a man's excitement, which Monika was staring at, no longer able to suppress her lust.

"!!" He hides this shame hidden to his eyes, his state of mind still tranced by the intimacy experienced "Where--when did--

The enamored wife, unable to wait for his perceived shame to wither down, takes to his hands to bend them away from his twitching honesty. The thought spreads panic to the unclothed man.

"Monika, you're not serious?!" He struggles a losing battle as a man caught in the crossfire of his wife's yearning to be lavishly devoured and his own mired hunger. Her hands are gentle, soft and deliberate, as far as a warrior maiden as they can be. Her voice follows this trail of honey, an inner calm outside of her body's explicit needs ~Come with me...~

"You are serious...!" Brent looks back tot hose present "But, we're at the center of it all! You can't seriously want this right here?!"

"It's alright, I want them to see my love~

"No! Hold on--"  His words betray everything else about his act, easily brought to the altar at the sight and ears of all "Not here, dear, not here!!"

"Don't worry about them~ Her eyes simmers the tempest behind them even with her palms pressing down on his shoulders as to lay him on the stone furniture. Her hips waste no time sitting on his own, literally flashing a spotlight on his hard-on, twitching against her lower areas.

She looks at him, the lust of her body assimilated by the love of who she looks at, a soft glance easily able to give an innocent maiden a run for her money. Her smile is yet another chip at his foreigner view, making it a brittle wall to puncture with but a fist "Ready to make a woman out of me?~

"No...not with everyone watching" Brent's eyes are turned to the audience of men, women and, children focused on the two, unable to mask his 'meat rod'.

She giggles,  cupping his chin to direct it at her ~Don't you worry about them, my beloved. Soon enough, you won't be noticing them either~

"But I--

"Shh, shh..." A finger rubs on his lips as it moves away, taking his hands on her hips. Being her first time watched by her patron goddess, Monika wants it to be a special moment in time, to bring him in the same elevation of lovemaking as she is ~...just leave it to me, alright?~

Her hips move up and lower with his shaft underneath, fighting for every inch of his warmth, her unsoiled womanhood proving to be a capable opponent. One that seeps in defeat, leaking down her red in a baptized crimson. Her voice moans in a faint melody ~Husband...I give you my most precious possession~.

"Monika...I, I'm...the crowd". He didn't know whether to apologize for shedding

Her lips pout in excitement, sliding a finger on his chest ~Eyes on me, lover~

Her hips start to move, mixing the price of her joy at becoming a woman with her body's secretion to this special movement. Her voice lulls with every thrust, the pain washes away by the ease of the slow love. The men sitting by the audience had, for the most part, their arms rolled on their spouses, the latter curled on their side, fond memories of their first times. Bare lust replaced by the love felt in this experience initiated in awkward beginnings.

Still, a part of Brent refuses to let go of his inhibition, clinging to his embarrassment of a live audience. Assailed by pleasure, his sight is in disharmony with his mind, continuously glancing back between then and his straddling spouse.

An exploit she immediately remedies via a singular stone for twin birds. She leans on him, utterly blotting most of his view on anything but her and her glistened body. Every inch of her called to him as well as her lips whispering in his ear ~My love, my caretaker, do not worry about what moves beyond us. I am here, at your side. Place your eyes on me, I wish to show you how happy you are making me~

They move from his ear and rub on his own, once again sharing a kiss. Brent's sight is showered with every detail of the Amazon wedded to him. The tears that delicately fall among her cheeks. The blossoming cherry cheeks she flusters with no regard about masking it, for she does not see anyone but him at her side in this trial turning less like one and more like simply lovemaking.

The last remnants of his inhibition are forgotten, dropped to the confines of his mind. He whispers between their embrace "Yes, my beloved, show me the happiness you want to share with me".

His hands lower to the hips directly over her rump followed by his hips moving with vigor in an up-and-down motion. The kiss is broken by her moan slipping out of control. A rare sight and audition for the newly inducted jade man to witness one of them forsake their warrior mantra to moan in a higher pitch, swelling with gentle tears.

He does not stop, further enamored by her womanly screech and swollen eyes, half-shut. Her immense pleasure shakes her body up to her plastered arms on both sides of the slab fitting his head in the middle. Her hips move injunction to his. Muddy noise seeps from their joined intimate parts, staining the slab in their roused state.

Between the returned kiss, the brush of their chests and her soft moans, the pleasure becomes too much for Brent who couldn't talk himself to stop. He no longer wanted to stop, his logic far discarded. His 'rod' begins to twitch, subtly, weakly, strongly. He raises his hips only barely while halting her movements, entirely slamming himself against her. Her instincts tell her he is close, prompting her arms to join behind his neck, fixing herself fully, a face of unrelenting joy masked under unfiltered pleasure.

Her lips move, laced in a pleading voice ~Do it...numb me with your...~

His acceleration puts him at his peak, panting as she is. He doesn't speak, his hunger peaked...and succumbs to a burst. She screams as his seed breaches her confines and seeps in a stream. His hands forcefully clamp her hips in place while his thrust up every two seconds. Every thrust burns Monika's inside with a thick stream of his lavish hunger, heightened by his rod's compression as to spill as much as it can.

Brent doesn't fight it either, feeling the unnatural pleasure of a monster's body, his wife's. He does not stop the same way as he started, rather, it spends less and less with each strong thurst as the strength of the moment withers down, trying its utmost to spill as much as it can.

Eventually, Brent is spent. Well, not spent completely, but rather, the moment is passed. His man tool still manifests hunger, not yet satisfied. Neither is he. His eyes witness a face none will be allowed to see, but those close to him and her. He himself is given this visage of pure joy laced with tears and fatigued pants, awaiting another session, a face he will meet more often than most in their lifetime.

"My oh my...looks like this session between you two had made many of our citizens unable to bear the yearning. I'd say this is yet another rite going far and beyond". The matriarch speaks, a bit flustered by the idyllic scream of a sister Amazon in a womanly voice.

"Huh?" The two utter at the same time, the blanket of illusive darkness fading away. They see empty stadium seats, glancing shots of couples moving through the gates leading to this place. The women keeping a hand on their undergarments.

Those still present were not left indifferent to this very public session of intimacy. The children remain mesmerized to see an adult version of themselves far from the strong warrior. They sit by their parents' side, captivated by this 'lovemaking', akin to receiving a very sought-after gift. Many ask whether they will be able to nurture the same 'tingling feeling' that the act is described to them in their later years.

Soon enough, the stadium empties itself, the myriad of people lifting themselves with a bow at the two. It was over. The goddess of war had the satisfaction of her latest devotee now made a woman under her very eyes. She rises from her throne and picks the hefty claymore at her side. The blade growls in a golden plumage of flames. With a strengthened motion, she plants the blade before her upside down.

Raw divinity swells down the tear, beamed down on the couples. A fortune bestowed on them before her sudden disappearance behind the impromptu closing of the gap, returning the skies in a gentle blue among the stars, the latter, shining in gold.

The matriarch walks to the two still in each other's arms, their eyes twirled at the middle "Her Majesty has welcomed you in her fold, sister. You now stand as one of hers".

"I...I thank you, my matriarch. But I..."

"Of course". She giggles under the stars "Neither of you had their fill...I shall leave you both to knit your 'bonds'. Do be careful, it is not uncommon for her Majesty to 'peek', once in a while. We shall speak again, farewell..."

She wanders away to her idle husband, her daughter sprinting to her to be picked up. As she lifts her offspring to her arms, the patriarch approaches to cradle them close through the gate, leaving the two truly alone.

Monika looks to Brent, eyes begging to be taken, to be consumed as a woman, creeping close to his ear ~My beloved, my body wants more. Much more~

"I'm all your, my powerful lady".

~Hehe, do your best, darling, an Amazon is not easily quenched~ Her hips start moving once more, the fill of his spirit energy gorged in her feminine organs gives her a surplus of strength in her hips, thrusting down with renewed vigor. One of her hand lays on his chest, the other cupped to a finger on her lower lip, opened in repeated gasps and moans.

The friction in between brings greater pleasure to each of them, with Monika unable to stand in an upward straddling. She falls yet again into his arms, relentless in her movement. Her moans are loud, cut away by an impromptu kiss. He couldn't lay down idle anymore, enticed by her fiercely toned body, merging the outer aspect of a rugged warrior and the inner softness of a pristine woman.

His hands come again on her pelvis, moving in with his legs. Her moans translate in a sloppier kiss. Their bodies, entangled in profuse use begins to numb at the extremities, letting even more pleasure set in. Their previous debate at the halls watched by a thousand eyes makes itself known as every thrust by Brent proves, again and again, the accumulated depth of his hunger for her no-longer innocent body. The excessive aftermath of his 'burst' squishes out from between the very narrow gaps of their intimate part, forcefully expelled by bit and left to leak on the marble tablet they lay on.

This added sensation made way for yet another wave of overwhelming pleasure bloating in his fleshy 'rod', twitching with no withered intensity. A feeling Monika's increasingly experienced feminity can decipher. She braces once again, exhibiting the touch from his hands placing her still.

Her words aren't needed at this time, awaiting his seed sown deep inside her. Her visage turns to the apex of her pleasure, near Brent's as he can hold it in no longer. He slams her hips down on his and keeps them here, fully given to the immeasurable quench of pouring his thick liquid in her depths with every strong twitch of his pelvis, rising like a tidal wave.

Her scream is heavenly to his ears, the pitch of a climaxing woman, pushed upward with every stream. her body lies still over his own, her entire being focused on the hotness forcing itself within her ~It's hot...so hot~

The stream because too much for her womanhood to keep inside, resulting the numerous upward jolts spilling his strength outside as more bursts from his manhood, to stain the marble slab. A small dripping turned to a puddle still steaming.

Her moaning pitch lulls down with the withering amount he throbs inside, his hands ever clamped on her, a male's undeniable need to pour as much inside as possible. His reason had long been overridden by the desire to make sweet love to her, as he is right now.

The chaos inside Monika ends, their parts still connected. The puddle of Brent's quake now leaks down to stain the miniature stairs. Her eyes mirror his irises in a feverous streak of pants. Love stems from her face, approaching for yet another kiss, shaking from her pelvis. Amazon as she was, her given virginity cannot be denied, resonating with the unfamiliarity of having much of a man's bloated seed burning her innards in a continuous simmer.

~Beloved...~ she struggles to speak, mired by the runes overextending the physical memories of the act of a man relentlessly pouring inside ~I'm...so grateful to have found you when I did~

"Likewise, my strong tanned woman" he responds, reaching for her cheek as he feels her pelvis lifting up, plucking his manhood out of her womanhood. The syrupy liquid inside falls out as nothing holds the excessive amount inside.

It drips in quantity, drenching Brent's twitching tool in its own content, slowly falling flaccid from the strenuous session "I never thought I'd have the honor of becoming bonded to the one who pulled me from death's door".

"And in exchange, you have already given much more than I expected. It shall be a boon to feel your eyes watching over my hunts, over my battles". Her smile is adorned as before they embraced each other, that of a  delicate woman looking up to someone to lean on. An image many forget for the rarity of seeing it from them replaced with a thought for them to be stone-cold warriors.

She grins a mischievous tone as she leans closer, face to face "But it seems your tool needs more training~. Her hands wrap around his neck, a delicious promise dangling in his ears ~Every night, I shall hone it...personally and very thoroughly. My gentle healer wouldn't happen to have much of a problem with that, would he?~

"Like I have a choice in the matter" He grins as well, gazing deep in her loving eyes "If it's anything like the process for my upbringing, then I'll be glad to have the healing touch".

~Oh come now, beloved. If you can endure the weigh of one of us straddling on your body, I think your resilience is high enough to feel it in many nights~

They laugh under the encroaching grasp of sleep. He looks around, seeing where his cloth lays. He goes to reach for it, his hand intercepted by her own "No, beloved..."

"Aren't you feeling sleepy? I thought we'd go back home".

"No, sleep here. I do not wish to move. Our heat will...warm each...other...". Her eyelids fall down, overtaken by the restorative need to rest.

His arm shrugs and returns to her back, lulled by the night as she was now deep asleep. He pokes his index and finger, drawing a small green hue from them and rubs it over her back and bottoms "Sleep well, my sweet amazonian warrior. Your recurring pain underneath will never return..." The last shred of him mana spent, he falls asleep under her, under the gilded stars... --- A manner of years have passed, revocations of Castillan made manifest. An interdiction to make close contact with the jade eyes for the citizens of the Bright city. One that never comes to be fulfilled.

The people within, desperate in their medical needs yet unable to seek the locals for treatment via the price, wander deep in the forest, praying for the 'spirits' to hear their pleads. Every touch that brings a lover, a parent or a child from sickness gives fewer reasons to doubt them, their benevolence undeniable to those they have touched.

It extends beyond the humans living in their walls, as animals and monsters living far and close come to the place, now known to be a blessed place for them to visit. Prayers, offerings, and everything in between become the norm. So much so that the vision of knights clad in silver and gold to evict those shapeless entities with burning magic rouses a harsh response from the locals.

And from the forest's other visitors. The silver maidens, as they call them. Almost always intricately linked to an individual jade 'spirit', they strike and expel violent perpetrators. Tides of silver knights found fallen just outside of the forests become a common thing to witness with shredded armors and broken weapons.

One of the silver maidens appears on top of a hilt, a voice of stoic joy "Over here, husband. Come quick!" her armor is non-existent, instead shrouded with a white robe as well as bits bundled in her arms.

A man is seen following behind, hands full of twin baskets filled with dishes. Their vapors are visibly steaming from them "I'm here, do not worry".

"Quickly! Our infant is stirring in her sleep and I've no doubt she'll be hungry".

Catching up, the man drops the basket near her sitting form by the edge, tickling a baby wrapped in silks of the same color "Isn't that right, my little one?~

He raises one hand, sending forth a swath of energy diving down in a dome shape with runes burned into the rock and grass. A black mirror of some sort, disabling the very existence of the three "Well, she'll wake up with you ticking her cheek like that". He sits by the two, a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes glance back with a giggle "Come now, husband, I wouldn't want our Amber to sleep all the way through the travel"

"Fair enough" The baby rouses and wakes, watching her mother with tiny blue irises. They turn to the breath-taking sight of the forest, a green whirlwind gently dancing in the sky.

Her mother notices this interest, demonstrated with one of her hands gently the tiny palm, pointing it a the immensity of the wildness "Caught your eye, did it? Hmm, you've got a sharp sight, my little one. Perhaps one day, you shall wander through its borders, hunting for game, to find someone derelict, left to themselves to care for, nurture back to life..."

"And in that instance..." Brent places a finger on his daughter's chin, squeezing a burst of childish laughter out of her small voice "...his care shall be returned with your hearts bound to the other".

They share a time of silence, recollecting the time he was 'relocated' in this place as many before. Castillan had long thought of the issue as a boon to forget. A blessing turned to a curse as the fate of those abandoned within was revealed to him. He knew of the jade eyes' Genesis. A secret he had to keep away. He has seen their resurrection as a state of mind, their powers. He has felt their wrathful gaze. He couldn't strike at them, much less the projected phantoms they let soar.

What was to be told of the man who had systematically offered the very individuals to become said 'spirits'?