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Masakh
They knew nothing of this creature.
They were confused. The creature existed, yes, but it possessed neither the aura of the living nor the cold air of the dead. It possessed neither the songs of triumphs nor the odes of defeat. Instead, there was noise. A screeching, scratching noise that droned with neither meaning nor order. The noise lacked a beginning and an end, and the further they listened, the further the noise grated.
“This is unusual.”
Indeed. They watched their champion, guide the wolves to surround the creature. Despite the noise that emitted from its soul, the physical form of the creature was small. It was a reptile not longer than the back of Kadulja’s hand. Its skin was a mesh of purple and black, its tail was upright and active, swaying to the side. Its golden slit eyes gazed forward –
Be careful Kadulja. They warned her. There is more to this masakh than meets the eye.
“Those twigs and leaves... it created a home?” Kadulja sounds as confused as they feel. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
Send the wolves first. They urged. Let us observe how it reacts.
Kadulja does not complain. Their leader, the strongest amongst their number, howls, and the spirits sing in harmony.
“Spirits of the Sanctuary, grant these noble hounds your aid in our time of need.” Kadulja chants. “[All Boost].”
They filled up the bodies of the Silva Wolves. Strength, Speed, Toughness – all was doubled in preparation. The wolves, felt their aid. The Wolves charged, entering into the creek, charging forward at blinding speed toward their foe.
Something is wrong.
Indeed. Their foe did not flee. It stood upon its home, raising a pebble with its tail and then –
Kadulja! They roared at once. THIS MASAKH –
“It can cast?” Kadulja’s voice is hollow. The pebble is shaped into a smooth spear of the likes they had never seen, and the masakh whips it into the air with its tail. Effortlessly, it tears away a good portion of a wolf’s ear. The howl of pain the creature emits shudders them.
Kadulja falters, tripping over her own feet. “Impossible.” She whispers. They understand why. The hide of the Silva Wolf was strong on its own, but combined with the spirits [All Boost] it could survive direct attacks from spears, knives and daggers.
It should have.
The creature fired again and missed. Without warning – it vanished from its position. No, not vanished. They witnessed a small trail of water appearing on the surface of the pond and found the creature upon the back of a wolf. They did not sense it move, but it had. It moved at speeds they did not, could not register.
Kadulja’s grip on their staff was uneven. Shaky, weak. This is not the time for fear! They demand. Gather courage! We must use the Flowers of Destruction –
The Masakh bit down upon the neck of the wolf, and it went still in the water. Kadulja’s breath went stiller. They could not hear the wolf’s songs anymore. The spirits that hovered around the wolf turned a dull ashen grey. One by one, they ceased.
They react before she can scream. Their staff, the home of their collectiveness, leaps out of the hand of the protector and horizontally slam into her mouth,
QUIET!
“I – It – it –”
We saw it as well.
“The soul – the spirits –” she whispered. “Spirits cannot be killed!”
FOCUS! They roar. Focus Kadulja! Abandon your fear, for if you do not, then not only your spirit, but that of your people will be destroyed by that Masakh!
It took mentioning her people to snap her to realization. The Kadulja possessed a fear for her own life. She, like the rest of their kind, was averse to conflict and fighting, easy to demoralize. Yet, the mention of the threat against her people was the trigger. The Kadulja’s life was no longer important. Her fear was no longer an issue. She would stand and die against a thousand enemies a thousand times before one were to strike against her people.
She stood. Her grip against their staff is stronger and firmer than ever. Her gaze is sharpened as she watches the masakh vanish across the pond, leaping to kill another wolf. All it takes is her aim.
We will lend you our power.
The Flower of Destruction roars to life with the red and orange spirits, sending those averse to the heat and warmth fleeing away from it. Its petals danced wildly in the wind as they channeled their collective energy into it.
They unleash it upon the creek.
The impact shook the earth. Water reaches past the trees and into the heavens, turning to steam. The heat melted away at the creatures within the pond, and Kadulja’s cheeks are wet. They know why. The smell of burning meat and the silent cries of the Silva Wolves are telling.
It is better they die and their spirits re-enter this world, than to be permanently eliminated by that Masakh.
“I understand.”
Again, she fires, the flowers of destruction reaching out to the creek, the red spirits singing a song of woe. Again, she fires, raining down the fires upon the creek that now boils and sizzles, all living creatures within its range suffering for the sake of others. She fires a third time, and they feel their energy rush through her veins. They know, and understand that there is a limit to which she can continuously send out the consuming flower.
She fires again, her body becoming weaker, but her conviction only increasing.
Kadulja –
Again, she fires. The water in the creek is bubbling, hissing harshly in the silent woods around them. Kadulja does not stop. She does not let up. Her target is the stone upon which the masakh stood. Its home. They understand that she will not stop until that rock is destroyed.
They help her.
Again, the flower assault the rock. Again, they strike the water. Again, the rock is hit, glowing red from the heat. Again – and again – and again –
Kadulja – enough.
There is no water left in the creek. Burned husks of creatures lay at the bottom of a gouge in the earth. Steam emits constantly from the scar, and the rock in the middle finally fell to the fire.
This rock... could it be?
No. No. Surely it could not be. Surely, they think. It cannot be that rock.
There is no need to inform her of their worries. The Kadulja is weakened and disoriented from the usage of the flower of destruction. Now is not the time to fill her with fear. For if it is, indeed, that rock, and if this is, indeed, that creek –
Then her victory was hollow and meaningless.
“What is it?”
She senses their discomfort. They forget, sometimes, that the ability to sense the other was shared, linked. Nothing. They reaffirm. You have done well.
Kadulja takes the compliment without complaint. “I feel... nothing.” she states.
It is expected. They tell her. The flower of destruction is fueled by your passion; fueled by the most colorful spirits. To use so much of it, is to expend a vast amount of your spirits.
“They will return on their own?”
In time, yes.
Kadulja nods. “Speaking of returning... Shutila failed to do so.”
The Yonder Bears must have refused their assistance. If such is the case, you apprentice may be in danger.
Kadulja breathes heavily under her breath. “I’ll have to use the [Live Root] to get to her in time.”
We will allow it.
She nods and turns, her expression vacant. She gives one last glance out to the destroyed pond, muttering a silent prayer. She would return to cure the damages to the earth and refill the spring’s life, now that it was safe.
“That masakh... what was it?”
They do not know how to answer.
