Divide And Conquer

Chapter 2

The narrow streets of Xanthus seethed with Imps as they scurried about on unknown errands. Patrols of Bornian enforcers marched through the crowds, their fiery rune-marked armor setting them apart from the soot-covered peasant folk.

Two Imps, Rax and Skrit, huddled in a shaded alley, their voices lowered to ominous whispers.

"Curse this wretched existence," Rax snarled, baring his jagged fangs. "The Embodiments and their Bornian hounds grow fatter while we starve. They take what they want from us, caring nothing for our misery."

Skrit absently rubbed the stump where his hand used to be. "Just yesterday, a Bornian lopped off my fingers for daring to scrounge in the Rings. He laughed as he did it, the wretched beast."

Rax spat. "I swear I will have my revenge against those so-called overlords. The rage grows within my heart, burning like the fires of the Underworld."

"As it does for all Imps," Skrit agreed. "But the time is not yet right for rebellion. It would only lead to slaughter."

"Let the rage simmer among the other races as well," Rax said. "On the day it boils over, all of Xiuri' shall rise up as one against Voraz and his minions."

Skrit bared his jagged teeth in a vicious grin. "I look forward to sinking my fangs into Bornian throats when the revolution comes. We will bathe in their blood before marching upon the Black Tower to cast down Prince Voraz!"

Rax quickly gestured for silence as a Bornian patrol approached. The hulking warriors strode past, hands ready upon the cruel barbed whips hanging from their belts. Their soulless black eyes stared straight ahead, seeing the Imps as little more than worthless vermin.

When the patrol moved on, Rax and Skrit slipped from the alley and went their way, the embers of rebellion burning quietly in their hearts.

In darkened hovels and ramshackle slums across Xanthus, seditious whispers spread like wildfire as resentment simmered among the oppressed races. In their glittering temples and towers, the Embodiments and Bornians remained oblivious, drunk on power and privilege. They did not hear the ominous echoes rising from below, nor sense the coming tide of blood and fire.

Deep within the Black Tower, Prince Voraz sat upon his throne, deaf to the whispers of revolt. A Red Tew groveled before him, head lowered in forced reverence toward the cruel overlord of Xiuri’.

“Report, worm,” Voraz demanded, his voice oozing contempt. “What news from the Fifth Ring?”

“M-my Prince,” the Red Tew stammered. “Your orders have been carried out. The last pockets of resistance among my people have been cruelly stamped out.”

“Cruelly, you say?” Voraz chuckled. “Not cruelly enough, it would seem, if vermin like you still dare speak to me of ‘resistance.’ But no matter. The Embodiments rule the Rings, and the Bornians keep order at my command. Xiuri’ bows before my unquestioned might!”

The Red Tew kept his eyes averted. “Y-yes, my Prince. All is as you command.”

Voraz leaned forward, his scarred visage twisted into a mocking grin. “Oh come now, your words say one thing, but your trembling spine tells another tale. Do you think me blind to the anger simmering among the wretches I rule over? Deaf to the whispers in the dark, the skittering sounds of rebellion?”

The Red Tew froze. “N-no, my Prince! I would never—”

Voraz silenced him with a gesture. “Enough sniveling. I am well aware of the plots fomenting among the races. Did you think my loyal Imp spies would fail to unearth such things? Fools dream of revolution, imagining they can cast me down.”

He rose from his throne, towering over the cowering Red Tew. “They shall learn otherwise,” Voraz declared. “I will burn away this budding sedition, razing the Rings if I must. Xiuri’s wretches will be reminded of who wields true power here. I alone dominate this land!”

The Red Tew trembled, hunched low. “P-please, my Prince! I beg you, have mercy—”

With another dismissive wave of his hand, Voraz transformed the groveling Red Tew into a pile of ashes. “Mercy is for the weak,” he sneered. “Ready the pits. I wish to be entertained.”

As the ashes were swept away, Voraz strode to his balcony, gazing out over Xanthus with cold pride. The races may dream of revolt, but he would crush them under his heels like the insects they were. Xiuri’ belonged to him alone.

Night fell on the city. In their wretched hovels, the oppressed races whispered and waited, their hatred of Voraz growing. The coming fire, when it finally ignited, would utterly consume the land of Xiuri’.