The marrow of the Fecund holds a secret that the world has tried to bury. In that deep and hollow place, a cruel and sentient storm breathes. They call it the Current. It is no gift from the heavens. It is a parasitic god waiting for those who refuse to be Extinguished. To reach for its power is to dance upon the razors edge of Sunder Fate. This is a place where the warriors Axis, the very spine holding their soul together, is the ultimate stake in a gamble for survival.
The Current demands a hierarchy of suffering. It does not offer its gifts to the kind or the peaceful.
The lowest rung are the Statical Slaves. These are the Blind Seers who have been granted the Cognizance to map the thermal pulses of predators even though their own flesh remains brittle and weak. Above them are the Fulminated. These are the survivors of the harvest who move with terrifying Velocity and Potency. They strike with the weight of falling stars and leave only ruin in their wake. At the peak sit the Slaves of Divinity. These are beings of merged flesh and lightning who can vanish into Obscurity. They forge Inviolate constructs of pure energy and sense a killers intent before the blade is even drawn.
8 Pillars hold this storm aloft. They are Velocity, Manifestation, stealth, strength, Efficacy, invisibility, utility and healing.
The hierarchy of the Fecund is absolute. It applies to every living thing, whether it walks on two legs or crawls through the shadows. A monster with a high Axis is a god among its own kind. The weakest are the Fertilized. They are filled with current but their weakling of a cognition does not use it. Followed by fulminated and slave of divinity threats. People is not aware of their ranks so they call them "threats". There are the higher ranks; cleavers, surged and the strongest, divine.
Cleavers are known for their high intelligence and strong muscles. Synaptic myriads are always cleavers. They are as intelligent as a human with the ability to harden their body parts at will. Meanwhile Surged monster are known for being invisible and fast. They can rip you apart with their claws while being completely invisible. And behold, the divine. As much as you think your strength is, they are stronger. They are fast, strong and durable, Also smart. They have no weaknesses, no emotions and they are not merciful enough to make you live.
Lifeless knew none of these myths as he grew. He only knew the copper taste of his parents blood as it pooled on the floor. Born into the dark truth of the Fecund, he entered the world an orphan. His parents were slain the moment he drew breath. This left him a nameless and infirm earthborn. He was an abnormal creature. He was a stain on the worlds vision of humanity. His tormentors named him Lifeless because to them, a creature without the spark of power was a thing that lacked a soul. To them, he was a corpse that had forgotten to stop moving.
Fate arrived in the form of a grey haired man. He pulled the infant from a stained carpet and carried him away. He brought the boy to a rotting wooden cabin. This was a monument to poverty in the year 2004.
There was no manufactured milk for the hungry child. There was only the struggle for scraps. For eight years, Lifeless grew up in the dirt. He drank water from stagnant ponds with cupped hands. He endured the rhythmic beatings of those who found joy in his weakness. Even the old man used the name Lifeless. It was a constant reminder of his vacancy. It was a label of his failure to exist.
The peace of poverty shattered when fifteen soldiers descended. They did not come for a boy. They came for sport. Lifeless watched from the shadows. He was paralyzed by trauma as the old mans limbs were severed for no reason. The soldiers were bored. They wanted to see how a man screamed when he lost everything.
They dragged the boy to a wasteland city. There, the years were measured in the weight of useless rocks and the sting of the lash. He was a beast of burden. He was a slave to be tortured for the amusement of the guard. By the time he turned sixteen, he had survived on hard bread and filth. He was a skeleton wrapped in scarred skin.
It was the smell that broke his spirit in the end. The scent of roasted chicken and fish wafted from the soldiers mess. This was food he had never seen. He had only imagined it in the fever dreams of hunger. His rank was that of a Statical Slave. His body was weak but his Cognizance was sharp. It allowed him to pierce the veil of the dark and feel the heartbeat of the city. He did not want freedom. He wanted to eat. He wanted to feel full for one single moment before he died.
By midnight, the plan was simple. He would bypass the guards by feigning a death wish. Lifeless gripped a jagged rock from the mines. He walked toward the main gate with his eyes fixed on the horizon. He ignored the armored men as if they were ghosts. A bearded soldier stepped forward. The crack of a whip echoed against the stone.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"
The boy did not speak. He pivoted. His Axis twisted as he hurled the stone. It struck the guards chest with a sickening thud. The blow collapsed his lungs and sent him gasping to the dirt. Lifeless did not wait. He accelerated. His heart hammered against his ribs as he sprinted toward the storage room. Behind him, the shouts of two guards tore through the night.
The air inside the larder of the King carried a scent that was a cruel contradiction. It was a thick and heavy atmosphere where the fragrance of roasted rosemary and thyme collided with the metallic and cloying stench of death. This was a room of abundance situated in a palace of slaughter. To a boy like Lifeless, the room felt like a dream crafted by a demon. He stood in the flickering shadows of the pantry. His lungs burned from the effort of holding his breath.
He had no name that mattered. In the slave pits of the Iron Kingdom, a name was a luxury. A name cost more than a human life was worth. He was a deficit in the eyes of the crown. He was a rounding error in the tally of the wretched. His stomach was a hollow cavern. It was a screaming void that had finally silenced every other instinct. Hunger was a sharp and jagged thing that lived behind his ribs. It drove him into the heart of the fortress.
With fingers that would not stop trembling, he reached out toward a silver platter. It caught the dim torchlight from the hallway. He snatched a grease slicked chicken. The warmth of the bird felt like a miracle against his cold palms. He did not wait to eat. He shoved a bottle of lukewarm water into the frayed waistband of his rags. He intended to disappear back into the vents.
He failed. He never even managed to take a single bite of the meat.
The heavy oak doors creaked open with a sound like a giant groaning in pain. The silence of the larder was shattered by the rhythmic and terrifying clack of iron shod boots against the stone. Ten guards stepped into the light. Then twelve. They moved with the practiced ease of men who knew they were the masters of every room they entered. They did not draw their swords immediately. They saw no threat in the small and shivering figure before them. Instead, they formed a semi circle. Their torchlight danced across polished breastplates.
They were laughing. It was a hollow and cruel sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. It was the sound predators made when they watched a mouse trip over its own tail. Lifeless felt his eyes widen. They mirrored the flickering orange flames of the torches. He clutched the chicken to his chest like a holy relic.
It was a piece of salvation that was already turning to ash in his hands. He was a rat in a golden cage. Everyone in that chamber knew that his doom was already written in the ledgers of the damned.
The lead soldier stepped forward. He was a man whose face was a roadmap of jagged scars and unearned arrogance. He looked down at the slave with a gaze that held less warmth than a winter grave. He did not reach for his blade.
To use a weapon was too quick for a thief of his station. To use a blade was far too merciful. He coiled his fist instead. The leather of his glove creaked as he tightened his grip. Then he unleashed a blow that felt like the weight of a falling mountain.
The world tilted on its axis. The sharp and metallic taste of copper filled the mouth of Lifeless as his skull bounced off the unforgiving stone floor. He tried to draw a breath. His lungs felt as though they had collapsed into wet and useless parchment. There was no Current of magic to sustain him or keep him conscious. There was only the raw and cold gravity of the cellar pulling him down into a suffocating blackness.
When he finally groaned back to life, the world was a different place. It was colder. It was darker. The air was stagnant. He tried to wipe the blood from his eyes but his wrists jerked back with a violent and sudden clink. Heavy iron shackles bit into his skin. He was suspended from a damp ceiling in a room that smelled of old rust and stale sweat. He was in the Hollows. This was the place where slaves went to be unmade. It was a creepy and liminal space where time was measured only in heartbeats and the sound of dripping water.
"You finally woke up," a voice rasped from the shadows.
The lead soldier emerged from the gloom. He had peeled off his outer armor to reveal a tunic stained with the soot of previous interrogations. Lifeless tried to speak. The agony in his jaw was a white hot spike that forbade any sound. The soldier did not ask any questions. He did not seek information or a confession. He wanted a spectacle. He wanted to feel the physical sensation of another human breaking beneath his knuckles.
The first strike was a left hook that sent the head of Lifeless spinning. Crack. The sound echoed through the torture chamber. The second was a right cross that split his cheekbone open like a piece of overripe fruit. Crack. The soldier then drove a fist upward into the chin of the boy. This snapped his head back against the stone wall with a sickening thud.
Before Lifeless could even slump forward, a heavy boot plunged into his stomach. The force seemed to defy the laws of physics. A Red Current, the jagged and magical energy of the elite, streaked across the boot of the soldier and magnified the impact tenfold.
Lifeless screamed. It was not a human sound. It was a guttural and uncontrollable wail of pure agony that tore through his throat. He retched. He coughed up a spray of crimson that patterned the boots of his tormentor. The soldier roared with laughter at the sight. He grabbed a handful of the matted hair of Lifeless and yanked his head upward. He slammed his knee into the face of the boy in a brutal collision of bone on bone. When he finally pulled back, Lifeless was a ruin of heaving breaths and a shattered nose.
"YOU WEAKLING PIECE OF SHIT!" the soldier bellowed. His spit hit the bloody face of Lifeless. "Trying to steal from the King? You are a slave. You are a mistake that should never have been allowed to breathe. I will not just kill you. I will peel the soul from your bones until there is nothing left but a memory of pain."
Then, the world went silent. The screaming in the ears of Lifeless stopped.
The pain in his ribs and the fire in his stomach turned into a dull and distant hum. A sound like grinding glaciers began to echo through the stone chamber. It was a low and tectonic vibration that shook the very foundations of the palace. Snap. Snap.
The iron shackles did not merely unlock. They shattered into fine dust as if the very concept of bondage had been erased by a superior force. Lifeless dropped to his feet. He landed with a silent and feline grace that should have been impossible for a broken boy with shattered bones.
"HE-HEY! WHAT IS THAT?" the soldier stammered. His threat died in his throat as his arrogance was replaced by a cold and sudden fear.
Lifeless moved like a blur of shadow. In a single motion, his hand clamped around the neck of the soldier. His skin was now glowing with an ethereal and terrifying luminescence. He lifted the grown man, heavy armor and all, high into the air with only one arm. The eyes of Lifeless were no longer brown. They were twin stars of blinding white light. They were void of any human emotion. They were cold and vast like the space between galaxies.
"Do not disrespect the leader of the Divinity," a voice spoke.
It was not the voice of Lifeless. It was a deep and ancient resonance that vibrated the stones of the floor. A wise and terrifying power had taken root in the vessel. It looked upon the soldier with the disdain of a god looking at an ant.
The Divinity tightened its grip. The eyes of the soldier bulged in their sockets. His hands clawed uselessly at the wrist of the boy but it was like trying to move a pillar of mountain stone. With a casual flick of power, the pressure intensified until the neck of the man simply gave way. An explosion of gore and blinding light followed as the man was decapitated by the sheer force of the grip. The body fell to the floor like a sack of discarded grain.
The light faded. The heavy presence vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Lifeless gasped.
His knees buckled as his own consciousness slammed back into his battered body. He looked down at his hands. They were drenched in hot and thick blood. The last thing he remembered was the Red Current hitting his stomach. Now, there was only a headless corpse at his feet and a silence that felt like a scream.
Terrified and confused, he scrambled out of the chamber. He ran through the hallways of the Hollows like a ghost. Other guards stopped in their tracks as he passed. Their faces were pale with horror. One unserious soldier, a man known for his cruelty and his jokes at the expense of the weak, stepped forward. He grabbed Lifeless by the collar. His face was twisted in a sneer.
"How did you do that? Where is the Captain?" the guard demanded.
Lifeless shook his head. His voice was nothing more than a ghost of a sound. "I do not know. I did not do it."
"Don't play those games with me bitch" the soldier snarled. He raised a fist to strike the boy.
In an instant, the white light flickered back into the eyes of Lifeless. He did not think a single second. He merely reacted. He drove a fist into the chest of the guard. The strike was so powerful that it sent the man crashing into the floor with enough force to crack the ancient masonry. Before the other guards could even draw their breath, Lifeless was running again. He was a streak of desperation disappearing into the safety of the night.
He reached the slave camp and collapsed by the edge of a stagnant pond. He scrubbed at his face and his hands until his skin was raw and bleeding. He was desperate to wash away the feeling of the skin of the Captain under his fingernails. The water of the pond was black and still. For a split second, his reflection shifted in the dark surface. He did not see a boy. He saw a Hollow Vessel. He saw a void where a person should be with a towering and ancient shadow flickering behind his silhouette. He blinked and the vision was gone.
He retreated to the hovels while clutching the stolen and dirt covered chicken. The other slaves did not cheer for his return from the dead. They shrank away into the mud and the shadows. Their eyes were wide with a new and sharper kind of fear. To them, he was a Jinx. He had survived the Hollows and that meant the wrath of the King would eventually fall on every one of them.
Sitting in the corner of his stone cell, Lifeless stared at his shaking hands. The meat of the chicken tasted like ash and iron. It offered him no comfort.
"What happened to me?" he whispered to the darkness.
Silence was the only answer he received. He pulled back his rags to check the wound where the Red Current had struck his stomach.
There was no bruise. There was no internal bleeding. Instead, a faint and pulsing vein of silver light was trapped under his skin. It was a Sunder Mark. It was the brand of a god glowing mockingly upon the skin of a slave who owned nothing else.
The silver light throbbed in time with his heartbeat. It was a reminder that he was no longer alone in his own mind. He had been chosen as a vessel for something ancient. This was something that did not care for the laws of kings or the suffering of men. The Iron Kingdom was built on the backs of the nameless.
However, Lifeless felt a power stirring within him that could level the mountains and turn the seas to steam.
He was the Leader of the Divinity even if he did not yet understand what that title meant. The path before him was paved with blood and light. The first step had already been taken in the darkness of the King's larder. He closed his eyes but the white light remained behind his lids. It was a constant and terrifying companion in the void of his existence. He was a slave no longer but he was not yet free. He was something else entirely. He was a storm waiting for the wind to rise.
Deep within the stone foundations of the palace, the echoes of the soldiers death did not fade. They transformed into a cold dread that seeped through the cracks of the city. The guards who had witnessed the escape did not speak of a boy. They spoke of a ghost with eyes like the sun. They spoke of a power that made the Red Current look like a flickering candle in a hurricane.
Lifeless huddled in the dark. He felt the silver vein in his stomach tighten. It was as if the mark was a living thing that was drinking his fear and turning it into something colder. He realized that the hunger in his stomach had been replaced by a different kind of void.
It was a hunger for the truth of his own blood. He remembered the old man in the cabin. He remembered the rhythmic beatings. He realized that every moment of his life had been a preparation for the Sunder Fate.
The pillars of the world were shaking. Cognizance was his sight. Velocity was his escape. But the Axis was his soul. He gripped the stone floor until his knuckles turned white. He would find the source of the storm. He would find the reason for the parasitic god that had claimed him. The Leader of the Divinity was a title that felt like a crown of thorns but he would wear it. He would wear it until the Iron Kingdom crumbled to dust beneath his feet.
The night air was thick with the scent of ozone and ancient magic. Outside the hovel, the wind began to howl. It was not a natural wind. It was the breath of the Current searching for its prize. Lifeless looked up at the ceiling. He could feel the eyes of the world turning toward him. He was a small boy in a world of giants but he was the one holding the lightning.
The first chapter of his life as a slave ended in the larder. The second chapter began now in the blood and the silver light of the mark. He stood up. His bones no longer creaked with the weight of exhaustion.
They hummed with the vibration of the stars. He stepped out into the mud of the slave camp. He did not look back. He walked toward the horizon where the storm was waiting to welcome its king.
Every shadow in the camp seemed to lengthen as he passed.
The air grew heavy with the weight of Manifestation. He could feel the thermal pulses of the guards on the wall. He could see the Obscurity of the night as a map he could navigate. He was becoming the very myths he had never been told. He was the Sunder Fate walking the earth.
He reached the edge of the perimeter. A high stone wall topped with jagged iron spikes stood between him and the wilderness. In the past, this wall was an insurmountable obstacle. Now, it was a test of his new Axis. He focused on the silver light in his marrow. He felt the Velocity coil in his legs like a spring made of thunder.
He leaped.
The world blurred into a streak of silver and black. He did not just jump. He flew. He cleared the wall by twenty feet and landed in the soft dirt of the forest beyond. He did not stop to look at the palace. He did not stop to wonder if he was dreaming. He ran. He ran until the screams of the city were drowned out by the roar of the sentient storm in his own soul. The path to the peak of the Divinity was open. Lifeless was finally beginning to live.