Realm Raiders – Chapter 9

Rhen was fucked. There was no way she could block a strike from the thirty-foot Azrani giant towering in front of her. His arm alone was twice as thick as her entire body, for fucks sake! And the reach of the fangblade was preposterous, making toys of her swords as it sang through the air. The thought that her ancestor had sent her to this place to liberate the damn thing, almost made her scream in frustration. It was a good job she hadn’t told her companions what they’d really been seeking, Hoji and Greton would never have agreed to this suicide mission.

She hit the ground hard, breath exploding from her lungs as the weapon’s teeth – curved and yellowed – missed her by millimetres. The fetid breath that still clung to them washed over her in a wave of rotting horror 

Avarax roared his frustration to the dark heavens, his tattered wings outstretching to obscure half sky, his six–inch claws drawing geysers of blood from his own bastard palms.  

If Rhen had been any less of a woman, she would have pissed herself right then and there. Instead, she took the moment of the beast’s distraction to scramble backwards on the wet stone floor, ignoring the bite of pain as shards of debris cut into her palms. She would put up with that, and much more, to put just a few precious feet between her and the mutant. She’d never seen anything so fucked-up in her entire life. What the hell were the Azrani feeding this guy? 

Nearby, the priest who’d summoned the beast was chanting. Loudly. Some shit about Vouring and the sacred duty of the Azrani to protect the weapon that helped seal him at the Citadel. Even as she prepared to be skewered by the fangblade, Rhen took a moment to shoot the sanctimonious prick a look of pure disgust. 

As a rule, she tried to respect the beliefs of others. Although she followed no religion herself, she’d always held the opinion that whatever helped you sleep at night was fine with her. But this asshole was taking the piss. His god had told him Rhen was here to corrupt the magic of his sacred ruins, but that was bullshit. Against her better judgement, Rhen was in this shithole to make sure that when the original seal inevitably failed, Vouring could not break free of his restraints.  

She didn’t want to be there, covered in blood she hadn’t intended to spill, with images of Telgin fresher in her mind than they’d been in years. She didn’t. And she certainly didn’t want to be facing a fucking giant bat-cunt, while trying to figure out how to relieve him of a weapon that could tear her a new one, as easily as she could rob a rich man of his coin. She was here because she had no choice. And the Azrani priest could go fuck himself if he thought she’d take his judgement on top of everything else.  

Avarax struck again, this time bringing the nightmare-blade down spine first, the flat bronze edge just as likely to split her in two as the teeth had been. She rolled at the last second, and the ground shook with the impact of the fangblade just inches from her back. Vibrations travelled through her as Avarax drew back, dragging the heavy weapon with him. Rhen didn’t wait to see what he’d do next; she launched herself upright, whirling to sprint for the nearest cover.

With the rumbles of the monster’s rage ringing in her ears she leapt over ruins, her feet slipping on wet moss, catching on vines. She desperately wanted to look back, but kept her eyes fixed on a nearby wall, knowing that if she didn’t reach it before the rumbles were replaced by a grunt of intention, she was a dead woman.  

If Rhen were going to die, it would be with a cock in her cunt and a glass of whisky in her hand. A heart-attack at sixty-five was what she’d planned for herself, after a life full of fucking, fighting and fleecing the rich. Thirty-eight was too young to die. She hadn’t seen nearly enough of the realms yet, hadn’t gutted enough bad people, or accumulated enough wealth to be able to sleep on a bed of money. All dreams she fully intended to realise. Usually, she avoided shit like this on principle. The jobs she normally took, like the ones that had first brought her into contact with Hoji and Greton all those years ago, were a featherbed compared to this. Relatively low risk for high reward, those jobs could be settled by the quick flash of a blade in the dark, or a brief, violent struggle. This was something else entirely. 

Rhen reached the ruined temple wall, its ornate carvings lost on her as she flung herself around it, grateful for any shelter. She pressed her back to the stone, which shifted alarmingly, as if it might collapse. The sound of Avarax pounding towards her was hardly reassuring.  

‘Shit!’ she spat, fumbling to slip her useless blades back into their sheathes. Greton and Hoji’s blood was still sticky on her fingers, the memory of their horrified expressions slowing her thoughts to treacle. But she shoved the image aside. She had to find a way to survive this, and reflecting on the gut-wrenching horror of what she’d just done wasn’t going to contribute to that aim.  

A fucking fangblade. She should have guessed. The Azrani were famed for them, though Rhen had never heard of anything on this scale before. The creature that had donated the teeth must have been a behemoth. 

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