Page 7 of Bonded By Savages

His triad seems to be created from black clouds from a torched city, from the smoke of a blasted Reaver falling to the ground. They tower over the railing, standing in battle stance, nude and comfortable. They seem to expect violence even here, in the heart of his empire.

Shadows. That’s what they’re like, darker than the night sky. The fiery sun casts a strange glow against their skin, the smoky depths of their being drinking up the light.

I’m drunk. Deeper than drunk. Religious exultation pulses over me as I witness our savior.

All the pain makes sense. My life was leading up to this moment. Waking up from a cryo-bay without ever going to sleep, a boy standing on Colossus with an Orb-Blade pressed into my hands after taking my first steps. Being told my ancestors were a long line of brilliant warriors, and wanting to live up to them.

Boxing in academy. Fighting Scorp and slavers. Risking death. Returning to battles and war when we could have lazed by the pools, idle sophisticates.

Every day, fighting for our honor and the empire.

Honor that ended up worthless.

My forefathers were honorable men, but each lived and died never finding their Mate, cloning themselves in the cryo-bays to give the next generation a chance. They followed the Empire. They acted with honor.

And they never found the one woman in the universe who could make them whole.

My Mate is alive. The only woman who can sire my sons is suffering. Every moment for her is pain. I could see the bones of her ribs pressed against her thin dress, the gaunt pull of her cheeks against the bones.

The Toad Lord who keeps her tortures her every day. It’s his pleasure. A disgusting creature like him cannot ever have beauty but can only corrupt and control it. Weak, pathetic men can only lash out at perfection in the universe, degrade it.

I will save her.

I will make her mine.

“I am Obsidian.”

The words roll over the arena, echoing outwards through the city for those who did not earn their place in the Arena. Drones flitter above, broadcasting the scene to the universe. Now that our God has shown his face, the Aurelian Empire will crumble. Already a third deserted to join the Old Ways for just the promise of Obsidian and their Mate.

Now we have proof.

“I have tasted my Mate. I have Bonded her, and she was taken from me by Queen Jasmine and the Emperor Raegan. You follow me because you all felt your Mate, and I have one promise to you. Join me in war, and you will earn her. Join me in war, and you will see her. Follow me, and the universe is ours!”

He raises a hand, and the scream of rage rips from my mouth before I can think. I yell out all the agony of losing my battle-brother. My fist clenches the metal bar and my muscles bulge as I cling to reality by a thread. The image of my Mate floods my mind, almost as intense as the first time. Her thin, tiny little wrists, that I could encircle with two fingers. She’s lived perhaps twenty-five years, and she wears a thin wisp of a dress that clings to her bones. Her eyes, Gods, her eyes, they are brilliant and green, and only they are untouched by the torture the Toad Lord inflicts on her.

I felt her being. I felt her pure spirit, pulsing through my mind when the Bond thrummed. She has a goodness to her, a goodness that must be protected from the brutalities of the universe.

For that goodness, I became a monster.

Obsidian’s hand forms a fist. Every man in the crowd silences at the same time, our mouths clamping shut as we listen for his next words.

“There is one who must enter the Arena of Blood. High Priest Tan.”

I grit my teeth in anger. I will follow Obsidian into battle, but I am going to have to become even more of a monster to protect my mate. I’ll have to throw away every shred of my honor if he is going to give accolades to that cruel High Priest. I growl, low in my throat, hating him as his lips curl back and show his pure white teeth. The High Priest turns, pulling his women roughly, and they have to rush to keep up with his long steps. His two triad members pause, less eager, turning and following him. They knuckle their branded foreheads as they disappear into the tower to take the winding stairs down.

The portcullis of the main gate creaks open across from us. Tan has his head up high, barely able to hold back a grin. It is unseemly to show emotion, but he is practically dripping in pride, ready to be honored, his terrified trio of women struggling in the deep sand behind him, racing to catch up. He gets to the middle of the arena, his triad behind, and slowly looks out at the crowd, then turns to crane his head towards Obsidian.

“So he honors the High Priest. Is he a true God? Can he see in that space between time and reality, and lead us to our Mate?” Tarak thinks out loud. Behind me, there’s a grumble.

“You watch your mouth, soldier. Don’t question Obsidian.” I turn. There’s a triad, three strong, their eyes so wide I can see the whites on the tops and bottoms. Young. If they served the Aurelian Empire, they might not be a decade into their service. On their foreheads are the brands of Obsidian, filled in with black ink. In their young lives, they’ve done much to honor Obsidian, and they owe their allegiance to the Priests and their Gods with a fanatical devotion. Their hands are close to their blades, ready to cut us down for blaspheming Obsidian.

I lick my lips. “We are promised our Mate by the Old Ways themselves. Do you dare break that sacred link?” I snarl out the words, and the three Fanatics lower their heads, shamed.

“Careful, Tarak. We’re so close. Do not provoke them.”

“I’ll say what I see,” his voice comes back, too tired to have fear. We’ve waded through blood to get this far. We’ll cut down a young triad without a second thought if that is what gets us to our Mate.

“High Priest Tan.” The words come from above as Obsidian stares down imperiously at the Arena where the High Priest struts and preens.

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