The Nazra Chronicles: Reckoning Prey

The Queen turned around to face the throne, her hands intertwining and "spinning" a spell as she did so. The wall that once was a few feet behind the throne now disappeared, the illusion shattered. Grimore could now see behind the throne, numerous symbols were painted on the floor, he could smell the blood that had been used to paint them... Dragon's blood. The illusion had been a good one; showing a false wall and masking the smell of the blood, and then giving way to a large space behind the throne that was big enough to fit an even larger Dragon.

Grimore looked closely at the throne now, feeling his stomach knot up as he did so. The throne was made of Alabastar, forged from the scales of a silver Dragon. The knot in his guts tightened upon his realization, and for the first time in his long life he realized that he was feeling fear. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the Queen. Her head slowly turned to meet his gaze, a rueful smile parted her lips as she saw the fear in his eyes. Grimore grimaced, the foolish Humans were using the worst magic of them all - blood magic.

Grimore wrestled with his bonds once more, this time fueled by both panic and fear. The Queen was visibly startled and jumped at his sudden fight against his bonds. Her little moment of fear gave him a small sense of satisfaction. His mind raced as he tried to remember the intricate workings of blood magic. He had read all the books he had collected on each branch of magic and memorized them, but that knowledge did him little good bound as he was. The Queen was now busy spinning spells again, which meant she had met the price of wielding it. Grimore snarled as he realized this world of man was entering an age of dark corruption. The Queen stopped her spinning to stare at him, enjoying the spectacle; just as abruptly as he began fighting he stopped, the hall once again falling silent.

The Queen's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, but as if the silence were her cue, she slowly walked up to the dais and took her seat upon the Alabastar throne. A purple cushion with golden embroidery had been placed upon the throne to make reigning from it more comfortable. Grimore huffed in disgust as the Queen arrogantly sat upon the throne of power, the Alabastar from which it was made represented the most powerful element this world could know. The knowledge of this element and how to make it had been his, and his alone, yet somehow the Humans had obtained it. The weaklings had undoubtedly obtained it through some sort of treachery. Grimore, one time Herald to the Known and Sentinel of Conjuring for centuries now, let his knowledge of the arcane flood his mind. The thoughts raced through his head, but despite all the years of knowledge he had, his mind kept coming back to the Queen's throne, and the Humans' mastery of the element Alabastar.

The Humans now had knowledge of things they'd had no way of knowing previously, and for them to now possess the knowledge of Alabastar meant that they had stolen it from him! Rage now filled the Dragon King, he embraced the waves of it. They had defiled his sanctuary, his keep, his mountain fortress. The properties of Alabastar now came to mind; the ash of a vampire Queen, the jaws of a Wolf Queen, the bones of a silver Dragon, a rock from the sky, the spikes from an unjust crucifixion, and blood, lots and lots of innocent blood. Once again his throat constricted as the collar made him choke on his own Dragon-Fire. As he forced himself to meet her gaze again, the Queen stared at him with a cold satisfaction.

His mind now raced with a tumultuous panic. How had they done it? When? To what end? He had quietly gathered the spikes off the ground when they had removed the Son from the cross and then made his way away with them, soon traveling from that world to this one. He cursed himself now for doing it. Why had he even grabbed them? He didn't know the answer, only the blind compulsion to grab them when he saw them lying on the ground had overrode all good sense. He had hidden the three spikes in separate locations, sharing this secret with only one other; his closest and dearest Dragon friend, fellow world traveler Lott. Black coldness now gripped his heart as he looked at the throne, the Alabastar throne, with the numbing realization of knowing that his friend Lott's bones were part it. He wondered what treatment his friend endured at the hands of this rebellious prey before the sweet oblivion of death had been delivered.

The throne had been muddled by the illusion as well, hiding the true brilliance of the Alabastar. The throne had a high back that went well beyond the Queen's head in height. It wasn't the ornamentation that made the throne great, it was the element it was made from that would make the Queen sitting upon it the most feared being on the planet. The Alabastar itself seemed evasive to his sight, even looking directly at it seemed like he wasn't taking it all in, as if the true grandeur of it eluded him. The throne had no legs, just a square base that rose up to be the seat, and then into the arms on each side of the Queen. It was a very simple design, and would have looked out of place in the grand hall had it not been for the Alabastar's magnificence.

Grimore continued to stare at the throne, noticing the hilt of a sword was sticking out of the thick right arm of it. The sword looked to be buried almost to its hilt and was set at an angle, seeming to stick out of the front. Grimore realized the sword was "sheathed" in the throne, a symbol of some significance to the wretched woman. The hilt shared the same elusiveness to the eye as the throne, it too was made from Alabastar. The hilt was beautifully forged, gleaming in the dim torchlight. As the light hit the weapon, it seemed to illuminate more light into the shadows. The pommel showed extraordinary craftsmanship; four masterfully crafted heads facing away from the blade made up the pommel. Grimore marveled at the fierce Dragon's head that snarled, the detail of the Werewolf's head, the gaping mouth of the Vampire's head, and the coldness he felt staring into the forged Human skull. The heads all ran together and went upwards to form the hilt, it too turned the waning light into brightness upon reflection. The light flitted and ran across the Alabastar heads, giving them a life of their own. Grimore's eyes became slits as he stared at the abominable human Queen, wanting nothing more than to avenge his friend and grind her in his maul, and taste her blood in the back of his throat.

Grimore pressed his mind for the knowledge he had of the blood arts even further, and the consequences of its use. He knew that this world he had called home for centuries was now forever corrupted, irrevocably damaged, the Humans were dabbling in something they truly didn't understand. This world of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, and man was now part of something more sinister, more evil, more costly. He wanted to shout and to warn them all, to stop them, for they know not what they do! He went to speak, but the collar constricted him yet again, he stood mute and defeated before the Alabastar Queen.

The sound of rattling chains from afar broke his concentration and he turned to see guards escorting a collared Were-beast. The thing was bigger than any Grimore had seen before, towering over its Human captors, but putting up no fight. Grimore recognized her, it was the Werewolf Queen, Ozne. She walked crouched over, holding her stomach, lowering her head as the guard led her by a single chain attached to a collar around her neck. The look in her eyes was terror, sheer unadulterated terror. The guard acted as if he were walking his dog, paying no mind to the beast, absolutely casual. The guard walked up to the dais, knelt before the Queen, stood, walked up the stair to the throne and handed the chain to the Alabastar Queen. Nothing was said and the guard left through the door the Queen had used to enter the room.

Grimore turned his head to the next group of guards now coming into view. Six of them were escorting one person, a very old looking man. The old man had a guard under each arm, supporting him, the man's bare feet dragging along the floor. The man's head wobbled back and forth, letting Grimore know the man was not conscious. He caught a familiar scent in the air as they proceeded along their path, death. The guards were escorting a dead man into the room? What confused Grimore even more was the fact that the man was shackled and anchored to large stone cube that was 6 feet in height and width, looking like a large stone dice. The man's chains were anchored within the number four pattern on the dice, his wrists to the top, and his ankles to the bottom. The other four guards pushed the large stone cube behind the man, the wooden wheels of the cart it was on rolling noiselessly across the smooth marbled floor. They brought the man and the cart down the middle aisle as well, bringing them both to a stop about thirty feet in front of the dais, almost even with the pillars that held the Vampire and him.

Dark, dried blood was crusted on the man's chest and chin. The dried liquid stained his loin cloth, which was already stained in grime and filth. The guards abruptly dropped the man's body, his head making a dull thud as it struck the floor. One of the guards that had been holding the man up walked a few feet closer to the Queen and knelt, tossing what looked to be a bloody human tongue at the Queen's feet upon rising.

The Queen nodded and then spoke, "Tell the nobles that the time of Rebirth and Reckoning is here." The six guards then left the room through the same door as the last.

She watched as the final guard left the great hall, leaving her alone with the Dragon, Vampire, and Werewolf. She looked from one to the other, the sight of each assaulting her with emotion; fear, pain, fear, sadness, fear, loss, fear, hatred, fear, lust, fear, revenge, but all driven by fear. But that was before, not now, no!

Now she had no fear of them, she blinked back tears and stood up before them as an equal. No! She was now the predator, she was now the one to be feared, and the feeling was intoxicating. She felt inebriated by the heady feeling that the possession of power induced in her.

"Hear me now, bane of man," spoke the Queen, "No longer will man hide in the shadows, from the shadows, only to be consumed by the shadows. The light of day has offered respite from the Wolves and Vampires even as it's offered us up to the Dragons. Fear was all we knew, but that is all in the past. For today is a new birth to this world. Today is a new birth for man, today we reclaim this world!"

The Queen looked at Leinad their eyes met; his pleading, hers eager and hungry. She descended the stairs of the dais and walked over to the Vampire. She strode confidently up to him and pushed her body into his, her lips so close he could feel her breath on his neck and face.

"Dear, dear Leinad," she whispered, as she brushed her lips against his cheek, and then kissed him hard on the mouth. "I will miss our ravishings, but I want you to know none of this could have been done without you. Our pillow talks were so useful." She then crushed her mouth once again to his, the passion between the two was undeniable. She pulled away, biting his lower lip hard, Leinad didn't flinch or pull away, he couldn't. She suckled on it for a moment before pushing herself further away from him.

Leinad could feel his own blood dripping on his chin, the Queen leaned in once more and licked the blood off. Leinad now strained with all his might, his fangs were out and ready to strike. She was but an inch or two away, all he had to do was move a little and he could rip out her throat. That beautiful, luscious throat.

"Goodbye Leinad," she whispered once more, before she diverted her gaze from his and walked back up the stairs to the throne. Away from him, for the last time.