Markus

Mortal man was brought into existence first with blood, then with soul, and to this day that was still true. New men were born every second, bright-eyed and full of potential in the image of God, the creator of all. Mortals were simple like that. They were given the ultimate gift without having ever earned it, blessing that they would never fully be able to comprehend.

But Markus was not mortal. 

In the Sacred Clan of Kokabel, souls were considered gifts bestowed upon you by your father when he decided you were worthy of one. You were blood and power, but you weren’t holy, weren’t complete, until you had gained what you had been born void of – the breath of God. Entire lives could be led without a soul, but death wasn’t seen as tragic for those that died without it, for they were already meaningless. You weren’t worth the air you breathed until you had a soul.

Markus of the Clan Kokabel was a man without a soul, and every day he worked toward it. Tirelessly. That was to be expected of someone of his stature, the next in line to the throne, the oldest living son of the King. He needed to prove his worthiness over his brother and earn what would make him complete., The leader that his Clan deserved. The one they needed. Anything less would be a disservice to the Kingdom, to their Clan, to God.

There were many ways one could prove themselves worthy, but Markus focused on what he had talent for – hunting. 

Which was why he was here now, crouching in the higher limbs of a tree in the swampy marshes in the central of his Father’s kingdom, waiting patiently for the creature that had been causing havoc in a town of important trade. The humidity had him sweating heavily under the bronze plates he wore, the skin of his face sticking to where the metal made contact against the ridge of his nose and forehead. He had been here for almost three days, unmoving, watching. The muscles in his thighs burned to the point of pain from the position he held, but his stubbornness was more powerful than any discomfort his body could ever summon to use against him.

He was trained from birth for this – the hunt, the struggle, the will to push forward to get done what needed to be done. That was his purpose. His only purpose until he was proved to have more worth than that. He was a tool for his Father to use as he pleased, and Markus was a good tool, one that could not be replaced. If he could not be replaced, he was in no danger of losing his place in line for the throne.

It was night again for the third time since he had taken his position and the rapid cooling of the air did little to relieve the heaviness that hung around him. He focused on his breathing, slowing the beating of his heart to a quiet, even thumping. He was beginning to think the creature might sense those things, know that he was here in wait for it. Why else had it suddenly stopped its attacks upon his arrival?

The area where it all seemed to occur was one usually used as a shortcut, where there was a narrow strip of land through otherwise swampy waters, massive trees with their gangly arms and roots everywhere. There were stones dotting the mossy, putrid waters on either side of the path, and, according to the locals, children had made games made out of jumping from stone to stone alongside trader’s carts as they tried to get a treat thrown at them from the passing merchant.the trader passing through.

And then one night the children started to get pulled under and most were not seen again. The screams, he was told, were awful, and could be heard all the way back in town. Anyone that tried to help the children were pulled under as well as whatever creature made sure it’s victim was within reach of the stone but not the pathway, so it was easy to slip into its grasp underwater. Several days after that it started to attack the carts with its massive tail – and then, suddenly, one morning the trail was compromised, large sections missing. You would have to venture through the waters to get to the other side, lest you wish to take the long path around the marsh.

Those that dared to investigate found that the creature looked like a man, almost, with strange inhuman hands and small black eyes with a massive scaled tail. And though he had seen many a beast, Markus had yet to see anything like that.

But he wouldn’t move until he did.

There was no movement here, only an eerie silence as the earth seemed to sense that there was to be a slaying and held its breath in anticipation. Occasionally a bird would fly through, cutting through the silence with a chirp or two before it took off.

It wasn’t until later that night that the silence was shattered when a rather large and stupid looking bird landed on what was left of the pathway. 

Something moved under the water then and Markus tensed, his world falling away save for where the head of an old man was silently lifting out of the water, just enough exposed so he could glare furiously at the noisy bird with beady little eyes. Large ears flicked up out of the water then, thin but shaped like a bovine, listening to the sounds the bird made.

Markus slowly drew in a breath, watching as the creature shifted, it’s massive body moving under the water as it tilted away from the path, angling itself in such a way that Markus recognized it was lining itself up for something.

Unlike most other in his family, who all took immense delight in challenges, Markus preferred things simpler. He did not play with his prey, did not draw out a fight for the sake of entertainment. The second he saw a way to end it, he did. He went in for the kill as soon as a weakness was exposed.

When the beast lifted its massive tail to swing it at the bird, Markus hurled his sword toward the creature’s head. It cut through it easily before it flew into the tree behind it, hitting it with enough force to crack it up the middle.

Markus did not wait to see if that killed the beast – taking off the head worked most of the time but not always. He leaped from the tree to grab the limp tail and pull it out of the marsh, hand over hand with slow pulls. It must have weighed as much as six horses, maybe seven, but that was nothing more than a feather for Markus – if he wished, he could have jerked it out entirely from the water. He was slow because it was an unfamiliar creature, a stranger to his kingdom. It could have several heads for all he knew, all waiting to take a bite out of him. He pulled the creature up onto the narrow path to examine it with a critical gaze. With a snap of his finger, his blade reappeared in his grasp, a useful spell on the metal, and slid it back into its holster.

It seemed dead, the ugly creature with the bloated stomach and face of an old man. Its hands were as described, so he did not doubt this was what had been terrorizing the town. When it appeared to only have just the one head - or had the one head, before his sword cracked it open like an egg – and appeared well and truly dead, he relaxed and began to drag it behind him toward the town.