The Slayarians - Book One, JM Barnes [best books for 7th graders txt] 📗

ended in wicked but useless claws. As the cursed manifestation hobbled forward, barely able to lift its horn encumbered head, the storm god spoke.
“Your punishment will be ended now and your crimes forgotten. None will know of your treachery but the god’s themselves and you will continue your duties understanding that if any further crimes are committed against the Slayarians by you, you will be replaced, unmercifully!”
The aspect’s eyes belied his surprise. Never had he dreamed Throngaer would relinquish his punishment, let alone allow him to continue with his duties. A new image of his lord, master and god would he forever foster in his mind. Yet he kept his mind empty for Throngaer would know every thought.
Holding a gauntlet over the creature’s head, Throngaer then said, “I now return to you you’re power and title. Once again you are…Hatred.”
A stream of energy coalesced around the withered form of Hatred as he howled in both pain and delight. Quickly his frame began to return to its old shape and muscles rebuilt themselves where they once were dead. His form was nearly eight feet in height and muscled like a hardened warrior’s. The red, burning fire returned to his eyes, as did the sneer upon his lips.
“You are the necessary evil. The Demonslayers are a force for good yet even they are subject to hatred. They’re blinding hate for demon kind has ever been a weakness, as well as an advantage. Now, as they seek to return to power they will need avarice to fire their souls and remind them of who they are.”
Hatred had lowered to his knees, humbled by the mercy, wisdom and confidence of his lord. He knew that to retain his position among the emotional manifestations he would have to make Throngaer proud. Silently he pledged to his master that he would do nothing else and Throngaer acknowledged that pledge with an imperceptible nod.
“Go then, Hatred. Remind the Demonslayers why they exist.”
With a malicious grin, Hatred disappeared, leaving two gods to contemplate their actions.
“Ironic is it not?” Throngaer asked a final time.
“Indeed.” Anghar grimly replied.

^ ^ ^

Calic-Matar sat contemplating his future. In his retaken level of the Abyss he sat upon a human skull throne overlooking his precious Soul Vaults. The vaults gleamed and hummed as he uttered the occasional command word. The countless runes flashed endlessly in arcane patterns that would be incomprehensible to all but the mightiest of demon lords but Calic was no simple demon and he had mastered the vault millennia ago.
A sudden yelp attracted his attention from beside his throne.
“Gnnnneeeeagck! What was dat?” Whimpered the imp, Sniffaro.
Calic-Matar’s expression looked as if it were carved from stone as he replied, “That was a wave of terror, imp, meant for every demonic denizen of the Abyss.”
“Every…den you felt dat to?” It asked.
“I did.”
“What’s dat big dat can scare you? Or even everyting in de Abyss?” The pest questioned anything that could do such an improbable thing. Everyone, mortal or not, knew that demons were unaffected by fear.
Having read Sniffaro’s thought’s Calic replied. “Demons do not know fear as mortals do, that is true. Still, any creature has survival instincts and when it is announced that hatred has been rekindled in the hearts of Demonslayers, demons know their own form of fear.”
“I thought all o’da slayer’s was dead except dat one you been watchin’.” Whined the pest.
“I was unaware of any others but if Hatred has been released then we must assume the war is not over. Also, if Terror has aligned with Hatred then we must assume the gods and their thrice cursed servants will be taking a more direct hand in future events.”
“What do we do, master?” Asked the trembling imp.
“We will watch and wait for the best opportunity to strike. If we can eliminate the last vestiges of the Slayarians and hold their rotting corpses up for the other demon lords to see they will have no choice but to make me their master. Then the gods themselves will learn the folly of resisting Calic-Matar as the united hordes bring this timeless war to their very realms”
Calic was nothing if not bold. Ages ago he had very nearly united the entire Abyss full of demons for just such an attack. He was unsuccessful but none had ever come closer to achieving that dream. If the gods had anything to fear it was the Matar’s charisma and ability to punish his fellows into submission.
Sudden silence stopped the conversation as the Soul Vault completed its most recent creation. Perched upon Calic’s huge shoulder Sniffaro wrung his hands in anticipation. The imp had a great part in its creation for it was he that acquired all the needed pieces for his master’s newest servant. First, there was a remnant of the human called Bele’, a loyal warrior to the end and as close to being a bear as he was to being human. Second there was a part of the unrecovered remains of Dardiax the Darkbringer. Third there was a white bear’s cub, thrown in the vaults whole and alive, bestowing the creation with the keen senses of an earthly creature and the needed lifeforce that was pivotal for any creation born of the soul vaults.
Calic spoke a word that dripped with evil, the word that would open the main vault door while a sour vapor hissed from the other adjoining chambers. Slowly, the door made from a dark otherworldly metal hissed open, revealing a unique demon.
With the head of a great white bear it roared its joy at being released. The vault’s magic kept the living subject of its perversion of life awake and aware during the transformations. The mental energy of its agony was twisted to become the catalyst for the merging of the components. This demonic creation stood nearly ten feet tall and its torso was covered in fur and scales. Everywhere there was a joint in its body, knuckles, spine, knees, even upon its thick neck, long spikes jutted outward menacingly. It was powerfully muscled and plenty capable of decapitating three men with one swipe of its massive bear claws. Fearsome though the beast was perhaps more frightening was the cunning look in its eyes. This was not just another snarling, savage demon.
“What am I?” It asked its creator in a booming growl.
“You are the first of my children and you shall be called, Bor'slovahn.”
The creature roared out its own name, announcing to the Abyss and beyond that a new hunter had entered the fray. It knew by instinct that it was created to hunt but not what it was going to be hunting. Calic listened to its thoughts and smiled as its natural intellect led it to the answers it sought.
“You will hunt Demonslayers upon the mortal realm. Vanquish all you find and bring me their corpses.”
Bor'slovahn caught the scent as the words were spoken yet it didn’t know how to cross from the Abyss to the mortal realm.
Sniffaro sensed its confusion and sympathized, “But master, demons can’t cross over unless dey’re summoned. Can dey?”
“Yes, but mighty Bor'slovahn is also mortal. The human remains you brought to me will cancel that particular restriction forthwith. All that needs to be done now is for him to step through the gateway I have placed here. Thanks to the meddling Dardiax and his fondness for mortals the means was available to me.”
With a click of a forefinger and thumb the dreaded demon lord revealed a gateway in the very fabric of reality. A hundred of the least of demon kind had been sacrificed to Calic-Matar in order to grant him the ability to open such a gateway. Soon he would, through the knowledge Dardiax had been in the process of gathering, soon be able to do the same for full demons. The portal radiated a blue glow and a breeze that smelled of daisies wafted from it toward Bor'slovahn. The newborn demon immediately headed for the gate and after bowing deeply to its creator turned around and walked through. The gateway then disappeared, leaving the lord and his imp in blackness.
“Gnneaghck! What do we do now, master?” The imp asked.
“We do as demons have always done, we wait for the chance to kill our foes and subjugate our allies.”

^ ^ ^

West of Samaria and north of the lands of the Greeks and nomadic Slav’s, the wilderness within Germania was home to several bands of lawless men. Many of those bands were motivated by greed alone but a few of the others had a more sinister cause. One such group was led by a shaman of the demon lord known foremost as the Darkbringer. His name was Kel’nart and he had been servant to Dardiax since before evil had swarmed over Slayaria and sent the ancient opposer's into what they thought would be extinction. Kel’nart had been satisfied over the victory but the cost had been high.
The Slayarians, even when betrayed from within, were no easy victims. For every Demonslayer killed, three of the attacking army had been slain as well. The evil army bent on the domination of all of Europa through the defeat of hidden Slayaria had been made weak and incapable of dominating even a small country. Afterward the forces scattered under the constant harassment of elves, dwarves and fearie, who were enraged at the slaughter of their longtime allies. Kel’nart took what men he could gather and scurried into the depths of the mostly unpopulated forests of Germania.
Thirteen years later Kel’nart’s supernatural power had grown but his small army had dwindled. Roughly only two score men yet lived to serve the Darkbringer’s will under his guidance and those men were growing old. He knew that if he was going to utilize these men’s skills as warriors he must do so soon. The men themselves agreed unanimously that to die in battle was preferable over old age or some incurable ailment. In truth, the shaman cared little for his loyal warriors, for such was the teaching of Dardiax. When there were no more men left to carry out his commands the dark servant would use his power to lure young men away from their homes and into his cult. With the promise of wealth and wenches, all of which would be stolen from villages and settlements, he would rebuild his following. Of that he was confident.
In preparation for the coming time of battle the followers of Dardiax the Darkbringer reveled in a decadent celebration. Several not so young women, nude and painted in goat’s blood, took turns dancing for and pleasing the men. Hollow log’s, used as drums, and shabbily made lyre’s played a discordant tune which increased the euphoria all the participants were experiencing. Kel’nart had given the women an herb which would make them willing and enthusiastic where they once had been unwilling slaves. The men had been drinking ale they had concocted which often made them as sick as they were drunk. He remained detached and unmoved by the gyrating, voluptuous women. His mind must always remain clear for at any moment his