Ebon Genesis

Tharsas simply stared, and stalked toward her.

"Get away, you mad little fuck! You can't touch me, and your pitiful magic is useless against me!" Peronelle raised her hand to display the ring there.

Tharsas ignored her, suddenly leaping across the remaining distance between them. He grabbed the hand on which she wore the ring – his grip unnaturally strong, and fueled by his rage. Electricity crackled about his hand where he touched her, slowly spreading down his body.

Tharsas ignored the smoke curling from the flesh of his hand, and his clothing. The electrical jolts, and the resulting pain, didn’t even register in his mind. He grabbed the ring, and jerked it roughly off Peronelle’s finger, hurling it across the room. As soon as the ring left her finger, the protective magic it had brought into being failed.

Tharsas bent her wrist back with his blackened hand. His still smoking hand now wept pus, and blood as well. Drawing back his other arm, he backhanded his stepmother with all his strength, and shoved her to the floor.

"Get away!" She screamed in terror.

Again, Tharsas fell into his magic, entrapping his stepmother in a cage of arcane energy, which sent little sparks of electricity into her, wherever her skin was too close. She quickly huddled in the center of the cage, as the sparks assaulted her.

"Mother!" Tharsas heard from behind him, and he spun on Lavina, who stared wide-eyed into the room.

Tharsas erupted in a growling scream, and charged toward his hated half-sister. She screamed in terror – seeing his twisted expression, and blackened hand – and tried to back away, but tripped over her own feet.

As she tried to scramble away, Tharsas leapt upon her, screaming in rage and pain, as the magic of her ring ripped through him. As he had with Peronelle, he ignored the pain, and tore the ring from Lavina's finger.

The smoke, stinking of burnt flesh and hair, hung heavily in the room, mixed with the faintly sweet smell of ozone, caused by all the electricity that had been unleashed. Lavina stared in mute terror at her brother's ravaged face, unable to even think – let alone move, or scream.

"How many times have you demanded I eat you – devour you? I will obey those commands one last time," Tharsas croaked.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tharsas formed the gestures of a spell with his horribly burned hands. He forced the words past his dry, smoke stung throat, and the magic came into being.

Lavina began to convulse beneath him, as his magic sucked her life from her, and transferred it to him. His blackened flesh turned pink, wounds sealed, and he felt his strength returning, as he sucked his hated sister dry.

When the spell's magic faded away, Tharsas was sitting upon a dry husk, which was crumbling beneath his weight. He heard the sound of terrified screaming coming from behind him.

Peronelle screamed, "What have you done? My darling! What have you done to my darling Lavina?"

"I have taken her, as she has taken me all these years," Tharsas replied, and laughed as he stood, turning to face her.

Peronelle started to edge away from him, but the magic of the cage forced her back to its center almost immediately.

Restored to full vitality by the life he had drained from Lavina, Tharsas walked toward his stepmother – still laughing – and staring hard at her. He stopped before her cage, and spoke the words of a spell.

As he completed the casting, he banished the magical cage around Peronelle with a thought. The huge, disembodied hand he had conjured scooped her up, and slammed her against the unyielding stone wall.

Peronelle screamed in pain as her head cracked against the wall, then gasped and screamed again, as the hand continued to apply pressure.

Tharsas tilted his head, and his lip twitched in a half smile, as he listened to Peronelle's scream trail off into a wheeze, the air being pushed from her lungs. He chuckled as he heard the cracks of her ribs breaking, and burst into gales of laughter as he heard the louder cracks of her other bones snapping, and her skull bursting.

Waving his hand in a flourish, Tharsas banished the magic. His stepmother's corpse collapsed into a broken, twisted heap on the floor, at the foot of the wall.

"You are avenged, Father," Tharsas whispered, as he stared at the pulped remains of Peronelle.

He turned and walked out of the room, almost colliding with a frightened looking Colette, just outside the door.

"Tharsas, I heard screaming. Your clothes are burned. What happened? Are you hurt?" The words burst from Colette in a rush, as she wrapped her arms around him, trembling in fear.

"I'm fine, my love – and we're free. We don't have to run away now. We can stay here. I'll be Baron, and you'll be my wife – and damn any who dare to speak against it," Tharsas said, as he held her close, caressing her hair.

Colette pulled back and looked at him, confused. "What do you mean? What happened, Tharsas?"

Placing his hand on her cheek, he said, "They're gone, Colette. They will torment us no more, and they can't stand in the way of my birthright any longer. They killed our fathers, Love – they deserved it."

Colette took a step back from Tharsas, and noticed smoke rolling out of the doorway. "What happened, Tharsas? Please tell me what happened," she pleaded.

"I did what had to be done. Our fathers can rest in peace. We can live in peace. We are free, my love," Tharsas answered, stepping toward her.

Colette backed away another step – seeing something new and frightening in his eyes. As she did, she passed in front of the door, and witnessed the carnage within. She covered her mouth, feeling bile surging into her throat, and stumbled down the hall, away from the door. The frightening look was still in Tharsas’ eyes, as he walked slowly toward her.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Please, Tharsas, come back to me. You're not a crazy fuck like Lav..." Colette stopped, the name of her sister choked off by a gasp, as she realized the withered form she had seen on the floor had been wearing her sister's clothes.

Anger surged up within Tharsas, upon hearing the name his stepmother and half-sister had so often called him. "Don't call me that," He growled.

"Tharsas, please – oh please, come back to me," Colette sobbed.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Tharsas screamed.

\/\/\/\/\/\/
~E~~G~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
/\/\/\/\/\/\

Tharsas sat up in bed with a scream, his body drenched in sweat. A startled Vargas stood at the bedside. "It is me, Lord Tharsas."

"Vargas – where am I?" Tharsas mumbled, and tried to rub sleep out of his eyes.

"In your chambers, my Lord. You must dress, and prepare for the funeral, Tharsas."

His head throbbed, and his thoughts felt like they were slogging through cold molasses. Vargas helped him dress, and led him from the room. Tharsas stumbled along in a zombie-like state – barely aware of what he was doing – aided in his steps by a concerned looking Vargas.

They walked into the great hall, and Tharsas saw coffins in the center of the room. He smiled as memories drifted back into his befogged brain. Peronelle and Lavina were dead – by his hand. His father had been avenged. He smiled and chuckled under his breath, walking toward the coffins.

The boxes were nailed tightly shut, and he knew why. The pulped remains of his stepmother, and the dried husk that was all which remained of Lavina would be horrific to see. He smiled as the fog in his brain slowly lifted. It was then that he noticed the third coffin.

"Why are there three?" He mumbled in confusion.

"You must observe the proprieties, my Lord, regardless of your feelings for Lavina and Peronelle."

"Why are there three?" He reiterated, louder this time, and stalked toward the coffin. This one was not nailed shut, and he hurled open the lid.

He backed away, the memories assaulting him.

"Tharsas, it's me, Colette. Please, my love, you're frightening me."

The sound of fear in her voice snapped Tharsas back into reality. "Colette – I'm sorry. Peronelle – she killed your father... Killed my father. She was going to kill us too. I had to stop her."

"But, Lavina, and so horrible..." Colette sobbed.

"Lavina forced me to have sex with her, constantly, and the pain from those rings... I couldn't think. I just reacted, and used my magic to stop them." Remembering what he had done sickened him, and he turned to empty his stomach into the floor.

As he coughed and gagged, Tharsas felt Colette's hand on his back. "I understand, my love. I know your heart, and I know you couldn't do this, if you knew what you were doing."

Tharsas stood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, as he turned back to her.

“They'll never accept us, Tharsas. We'll have to hide our love, if we stay here," Colette said softly.

"I don't care what they think," Tharsas mumbled. He looked into her eyes, and found that his anger drained away fully.

Colette's eyes suddenly opened wide. She screamed, "Tharsas!" and then shoved him.

Catching himself, Tharsas turned and stared in horror. The Baron, his skin blackened, and half of his body limp, stood between the two young nobles. The man stumbled back, and Tharsas saw the bloody dagger, as well as the quickly spreading wet spot on Colette's gown.

Tharsas screamed, and lashed out with his fist – hitting the man in the back of the head. The disfigured Baron stumbled into the wall, and let out a gurgling groan – dropping the bloody dagger.

Tharsas snatched it up, and stabbed the man in the chest with the weapon. He released the dagger, as the Baron sank to the floor. At the same time, Tharsas heard a whimper of pain, and the sound of another body slumping to the floor.

"Colette!" He screamed, as he turned to see her clutching the wound in her breast – her eyelids fluttering, and her breath ragged. He knelt down next to her, and cradled her in his arms. "Colette – I'll get help. Hold on!"

"T-Tharsas? I'm so glad y-you're all right. I'm s-so cold, Love. I lo..."

She went limp in his arms.

Tharsas stumbled back from the coffin, his eyes locked on Colette's pale corpse inside. He backed into the wall, cracking his head, and darkness consumed him.

\/\/\/\/\/\/
~E~~G~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
/\/\/\/\/\/\

He stood staring, seeing nothing happening before him, remembering the last few months. He had concocted a story about the Baron going mad and killing his family, when Vargas came upon him cradling Colette's corpse in his arms. The old man had believed the story, and wept with Tharsas for the pale blonde woman in his arms.

Somehow, Tharsas had survived the funeral. Colette was buried in her flower garden, where she had always been happy. Tharsas kept a lock of her hair secreted on his person, at all times.

Peronelle and Lavina he had personally buried in the location of the old jakes. There, they would be forever entombed – within the befouled earth – where they belonged.

He had told Vargas to continue managing the Barony. He knew the man would ensure coin from the coffers was available, whenever he needed it.

"We have them," a gruff voice arose from next to him.

Snapped from his memories, he turned to see the scruffy bandit who had spoken. Behind the man were several more filthy men – each one holding a bound person upright. The captives’ were the family of Peronelle's conspirator in his father's murder – women, and children not excluded.

"Kill them," He said, and watched as all the captives throats were cut. At last, he felt a measure of satisfaction, and closure.

Turning back to the mirror in front of him, he watched as an Orc grunted over the body of a limp woman, spilling his seed inside her. The sounds of women screaming were mixed with the echoes of men and monsters grunting and laughing. The sounds echoed from elsewhere beyond the range of his mirror's vision.

Absently, he reached into his pocket, and withdrew a crimson marble, as he watched the Orc withdraw from the woman, to be replaced by another. He tossed the marble over his shoulder, and an enormous boom sounded behind him. This was followed by a wave of heat that flowed around the magic protecting him, and the mirror.

Turning, he saw the blackened bits of the dead bandits through the smoke. He returned his gaze to the mirror, and pulled the focus of the mirror back, until he could see the whole of the keep from the outside.

Pulling forth a larger crimson sphere, etched all over its surface with spidery sigla, he spoke a word of command.

In the mirror, he saw great gouts of flame erupting from every opening in the keep. Stones flew, stones fell – and the structure was soon burning out of control. Nothing living had likely survived the initial blasts, and he knew – with certainty – that none would escape the burning, collapsing structure if they had.

A word of command caused the mirror to go dark, and shrink down to the size of a coin. He pocketed the item, and turned to look at the sunset.

Tharsas Witharten was dead. Though his body lived, all that he had been was gone. That was all buried with his hated stepmother and half-sister – and his beloved Colette.

In his place stood a new man – a stronger man than the one who had once occupied this body. The phrase, from which he had taken his new name, translated to The God King Ascendant in the common tongue.

Zoraster Arias turned from the sunset, and walked into the descending darkness.

\/\/\/\/\/\/
~E~~G~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
/\/\/\/\/\/\

I hope you’ve enjoyed this tale, and learning what makes Zoraster tick — as well as where his odd fetishes come from. Please take a moment to vote, and perhaps comment, as that is the only payment we receive as free authors. Both are most appreciated!