Crimson Valley

[Primevalgodzilla V2]

Prologue

Crotusk, Gaetean Year 263

The man in the bird mask and black cloak strode out of the house, hoisting a white sack over one shoulder. In his other arm, he held a torch, its orange flames brilliant in the shadowy darkness of night. The sack was covered with dried yellow and brown substances, and smelled of rotten flesh and fecal matter. As the man turned back to the small, shoddily-constructed residence, whatever was inside was clearly moving, making slight, halfhearted struggles.

Raising a gloved hand, the man raised up his broad-rimmed leather hat as he looked to the midnight sky above. From behind the ever-shifting gray clouds, a red light peeked through, slowly reaching down to the silent village as the clouds parted to reveal its source. From behind the musty glass eyes of his mask, the man squinted.

The moon, the spherical ever-watching phantom of the night, glistened bright. But instead of radiating ghostly whiteness, its form was an aggressive crimson, as though the eternal spectre of the night had died, and was not painted with its own blood. And its brilliant light bled down to the village below, painting the valley around the town, and the tops of the buildings within, the slightest shade of red.

The man turned back to the house and tossed the burning torch in his hand into its open door. The flames, erupted as they ate into the dry wood, spitting sparks and smoke into the air as they climbed through the walls and furniture. The form in the bag continued its weak struggles as the sounds of crackling fire emanated from the house. The man ignored it as he turned back, heading down the cobblestoned alley with silent, ghostlike footsteps. Silently, staring up at the night sky, he could not help but utter his feelings to the silent air.

‘So it seems that day has come upon us once more…’

Ipendium, Gaetean Year 260

His blood slithered down the white walls, seemingly from the heavens.

A large crowd- mostly commoners- had gathered around the front of the Ipendium Church of Zeus to witness the violent sight before them with a mixture of curiosity and awe. On the top of the towering massive church was a statue of the deity the church worshipped, so large and sculpted with such refinement that decades of volatile weather has scarcely eroded it. Skewered Atop the deity’s crown, still pouring fresh blood from the wound and all his orifices, was a man.

He was still dressed in his best, in a gray suit now soaked with his blood. His entrails, crawling with flies and buzzards, were tied around his neck. His expression was one of horror. Clearly, he had not died painlessly. In life, the man had been a Lord of the imperial palace. The blood bleeding from various openings in his torso slithered down Zeus’ visage, defiling his sharp features and giving him the impression of crying blood.

‘Albert! Albert! Why?’

A woman forced her way through the crowd, screaming and crying freely. The first of the lord’s four wives and perhaps the only one he ever had affection for in life, wailed bitterly at the sight of the corpse that was once her husband. The peasants around her ignored her, continuing to chatter wildly about the vulgar display above them.

As more people left their stalls or working places to have a gander at the sight, not one noticed a petite young lady, perhaps no more than eighteen, dance down the marketplace. She was dressed in a long white gown that danced behind her as she traipsed away from the church. Dressing the girl’s attractive features were striking silver hair that reached all the way down to her waist, and a pair of bright blue eyes that refracted and radiated the morning sun like a crystal. Disappearing down an alley, the girl continued to hum a nursery rhyme to herself, all while spinning a blood-soaked dagger in her right hand…

Dairmus, Gaetean Year 263

‘Northern Cockatrice, huh? Well, let’s see how ye fare here…’

Barely concealing a wide grin beneath layers of fiery red hair that ran down his neck and chin, William Donahue burst into the air towards the vaguely draconoid beast before him. At little more than five feet tall, he was barely larger than the massive beast’s beaked head, but was ripped with powerful muscles that enabled him to leap over twenty feet into the air. Yelling excitedly, he landed one powerful fist between his foe’s cold yellow eyes.

The beast flapped its wings in pain as it staggered back. Seizing the opportunity, William landed a kick into the cockatrice’s throat. The Northern Cockatrice is among the most feared of all beasts, as large as a small building and able to devour a man in one bite. It is said that entire armies had failed to stop one when it raided a village to feast, as this one had hoped to.
Yet a single kick from this man sent it spitting blood as it continued to fall back, hoping to regain the offensive.

William landed on the ground with a cloud of dust. Reaching to his side, her drew an old short sword. He held it close to his face, almost kissing it. This sword had served him well for more than a decade. He called her Antoinette. She was a trusted companions, just like all his weapons- Judeau, the bow! Moses, the axe! Raising his sword into the air and letting her bask in the blazing sun, he yelled a battle cry at his foe. Today, Antoinette shall claim another kill.

The cockatrice released an unholy screech of mixed fury and disgust. Opening up its massive wings, the creature reared to its full height of twenty feet. Its yellow eyes withdrew into their sockets as white fluid gathered into its throat. Although the cockatrice is massively strong and its ferocity was unmatched among beasts, its reputation is derived almost entirely from its most devious power- its unholy breath.

A high-pressure spray of white fluids burst with incredible force and speed, splattering the houses before the cockatrice. Almost immediately, whatever the vile fluid touched turned to rough stone. Fortunately, the warrior had long since closed the distance. The cockatrice quickly bent over, attempting to strike Donahue with its fatal spray. Swiftly, William raised his shield above his head, letting it to take the hit for him as it rapidly calcified. Reaching the beast, he rammed Antoinette into the colossus’ leg with enough force to sink right into the cockatrice’s rock-hard bone. Grasping the blade with both hands, he twisted the weapon to a sickening crack as bones keeping the beast’s leg in shape, easily as wide as a tree trunk, snapped into half. Green blood sprayed from its wound, splattering onto Donahue’s face. Wailing in agony as it collapsed onto its side, the cockatrice batted its adversary with one feathered wing, sending him flying into a house, shattering the wooden walls upon impact.

William recovered quickly. Pulling himself from the rubble and spitting into the mud, he raised his still-calcified and now mostly cracked shield to prepare for another spray. He had used it to block the strike, hence allowing it to absorb most of the impact. No such attack came. Instead, he heard the quick flapping of wings. The beast was attempting to escape and recover.

‘Running away, huh? Don’t be a poor sport! Let’s finish this!’ Donahue cried enthusiastically. The beast ignored him as it began its ascent. Gritting his yellowed teeth in annoyance, the warrior swiftly pulled out his bow, and in one swift motion fired two arrows at his retreating foe. The shafts sunk deep into the wings of his cockatrice, causing it to plummet from the sky, crashing back into the dusty earth. Before it could recover, the hero was already on his back. Climbing up the rapidly thrashing neck of the cockatrice, he sunk his blade deep into the back of its head. Slowly, the creature’s struggles ceased.

Jumping off the corpse of the cockatrice, he wiped Antoinette clean with a cloth before placing her back into her sheath. He sighed. It had been a boring fight. Somehow, William had expected better of such a fierce beast. Nonetheless, he was glad the beast had been saved before many bodies had piled up. William sat down and leaned back on the corpse of the cockatrice. It would appear his squad was running back after fleeing the battle. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed at their cowardice or glad they had allowed him a one-on-one fight.

One of them- Thomas, if he remembered correctly, although he really couldn’t be bothered to remember names these days- had a letter in his hand. Whatever the hell was he doing with that and when the hell did he get it? Not to mention, judging by the fact he was running straight at him, the letter was meant for him. Orders from headquarters at such short notice?

Thomas- or whoever it was stopped before him, raising the letter before William.

‘Sir, it’s for you. No idea who it’s from…a hooded fellow around the corner told me it was important.’

Most people would react with suspicion. Perhaps they would consider the possibility letter was a trap, maybe filled with poison powder, or at least reacted with pause at the idea of a letter from a hooded man given in such a manner. Not William, who simply snatched the letter from the rook’s hand and immediately tore it open and skimmed through its contents.
William’s eyes first widened in surprise. Then he smirked. Tossing the letter aside, he gestured to Thomas. ‘Fetch me a drink, will ya? Preferably alcoholic. Today…today is a good day.’

Monatus, Gaetean Year 263

The castle was the largest building in Monatus by a fair distance, and considering Monatus was one of the wealthiest cities in Gaetus, that was quite a feat. By nightfall, it was dutifully patrolled by nearly a hundred knights both around and within its thirty-foot high walls. To even enter the castle at nightfall was practically suicide. To attempt to steal from it, to lay hands to on the enormous riches within, was beyond the question of even the boldest thief.

And yet, five men planned to do exactly that this night.

‘So the share will be sixty for you, ten for the rest of us. We agreed on this, yes?’ One of them, a short fellow with a stringy moustache resembling whiskers, whispered, holding a torch before his face.

‘Now that I think about it, given I will be doing most of the work…sixty seems rather small, doesn’t it?’

‘We agreed on sixty-ten-ten-ten-ten last night! No need to change it now, eh?’ The whiskered man smiled nervously at his tall, slender man before him.

‘Now, Aegus, I can easily back out of this and you guys are free to raid the place on your own and claim 25 each. Only ninety, maybe ninety-five trained knights to deal with. Shouldn’t be a problem then. Guess I will be o-‘

‘Wait!’ Another one of the thieves cried anxiously. ‘Have it your way! How much do you want?’

The man turned back, the black glasses concealing his eyes flickering in the flame. ‘Worthless as expected. Well, since you guys have so graciously allowed me the honor of deciding the ratios…I think eighty for me sounds fair. You guys split the rest among yourselves.’

There was silence among the four other thieves for a brief moment. But they knew they needed him.

‘Alright then, brother. Eighty for you.’

‘Good! Then let’s begin, shall we?’

Calvin Bentham strode towards the castle ahead in large, determined steps, leading his motley crew. This was probably the most secure place he had chosen to raid thus far. But it wasn’t like he had any real challenge before.

The other four men broke off. Their role was to serve as a distraction by starting a fire so he could seize an opening to burst in and break into the vault. When it became clear that the castle had been penetrated, the guards would fall back, allowing the rest of his gang to infiltrate. Of course, they would likely be killed. Regrettable, as their staying alive would mean that they had more hands to carry the gold and treasure in the castle interior. Whatever. He preferred working alone.

He heard cries a few dozen yards away, and smelt smoke carried by the night wind. That was his call then.

Bentham burst forward faster than most human eyes could see. In seconds he was at the castle’s north gate, which was now unguarded. Bursting into the courtyard, he looked around. To his surprise, several guards were already charging at him, as though they were prepared for his entrance.

He sighed in annoyance. Oh well. It was not like he wasn’t expecting to meet opposition eventually anyway.

Calvin clenched his fists and tensed his leg muscles, preparing to spring. The first guard swung his halberd down, ready to split his head open. But his target was no longer there. In the blink of an eye, Calvin was above him, and before the knight could so much as react, he launched a kick right at his neck, sending him flying ten feet away, coming prone to a stop. The other two guards attempted a simultaneous attack. It was equally futile, as the burglar incapacitated both of them with lightning-fast strikes to the throat or chest before they could even swing their weapons down, denting even the plate-mail they wore for protection.

Next up would be the archers, Calvin guessed. Sure enough, he heard the whoosh of arrows fired from a balcony several floors up. Tensing his leg muscles once more, he burst forth, dodging the wave of death before entering the castle building.

Immediately, another group of knights descended upon him. Two of them carried spears, and the other two broadswords. These weapons were intricately carved in their own right, with fine markings and craftsmanship. Perhaps he’d take them as well and sell them at the black market.

Displaying lightning-fast reflexes befitting of his speed, he dodged a swing and a thrust, before striking back with a series of kicks and strikes. The knights were thrown into the air, three crashing into the gray stone walls and one smashing right into a painting- one that was no doubt worth a fair bit. Calvin winced as it broke into half.

Tearing through several more squadrons of knights, he reached a flight of stairs that branched out to different parts of the castle. Waiting ahead were several more archers and several more spearmen. Same old shit. Yet more surprisingly, between the group of guards, dressed in his finest and drinking from a small dessert glass, was the master of the house himself- the Interior Minister of Gaetus, Dominic Zeph.

Calvin stopped and squinted in suspicion. No doubt his presence this night had been expected. But how, and for what reason? The man before him was smiling, his eyes dancing as though in satisfaction. Satisfaction at finding his house had been broken into? Satisfaction in being face to face with a man who could break his neck in a single breath?

‘Well, you are no doubt surprised. Yes, I have been expecting you, Calvin Bentham.’ Dominic spoke loudly, his voice echoing across the hallway.

‘You know my name?’

‘Of course. I know everything about you, Calvin. Your fellow thieves? They were hired by me. This entire heist is a play…’

Bentham gritted his teeth, ready to spring and shatter the politician’s skull.

‘…and you have performed your role extraordinarily. Indeed, you have more than lived up to my expectations. Eighteen knights down in less than five minutes? Very impressive.’
What? The larcenist was now simply confused. This man talked as though he was hiring him.

‘Excellent work. Absolutely fantastic. Now, would you care to participate in the 6th Game of the Crimson Valley?’