Dohmenic

The morning light came, promising a clear sky for battle. Yet the eerie quietness of the castle thundered louder than a raging storm ever could have.

No words were spoken as he and his female awoke. Their eyes met across the pillows, and with a teary look, his Amorsa scooted closer and pressed her lips to his. He replied with an earnest kiss back, salvaging in her warmth what he knew the coldness of the day would chase away.

They arose silently, both of them getting dressed. His blooming female wore a loose dress, a silken cream one that elevated her beauty in ways that already seemed impossible. Her golden hair flowed down her back, curling locks twisting together. He hoped their young would have her features.

The Dralan himself got dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, and then reached for his armor. The heavy metal rattled as he tied it to his body, yet with every piece mounted, he had a stronger urge to pin it to his female.

She and her Kischmir would be safe up here in the castle. Their chamber was high up in a tower, far away from the war. To get here, you would first have to break through a whole army, then into a fortified castle, past the fighting Kathmirs inside, and then past the four guards who would be posted outside their chamber during the war.

And still, this seemed like too little protection.

His female and his future, all alone in this room without any proper protection.

Hands suddenly touched his armor-clad shoulder. The Dralan gazed over his shoulder and saw his Amorsa helping him tighten his armor, fastening the belts and loops until they covered his holy body, the skin that protected his veins.

Yet as he now turned and grabbed his dahna's hands, kissing each thin wrist, he knew that it was these veins that would lead the kingdom into glory. Not his.

"I have made a decision," He finally spoke, causing his female to look up with a hopeful gaze.

"You will drink?" She whispered, her eyes going wide.

He shook his head. The light in her eyes dimmed again, and he hated to see it. But now was not the time to discuss this matter again. "I will order Callath to stay in here by your side. You and your Kischmir will have him as added protection."

His female's eyes widened once more. She began to open her mouth, no doubt to protest this choice, but his gut feeling wouldn't allow it. He lifted a finger to her lips to silence them—something he hadn't done since she had first spoken out to him.

"I will hear no argument on this. I have an army by my side in the battlefield, males I fully trust and know will fight alongside me," He told, leaning down to her mouth when she slowly closed it. "It will give me peace of mind to know my best fighter is protecting the most valuable thing in this kingdom."

And with this, he kissed his Dralaq, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly.

Her life. Their creation. Their love in the shape of unborn flesh, growing inside the future of this kingdom. He knew without a doubt his female was the chosen Dralaq for this world, not by him, but by the Miss in the sky.

If his blood should fail today, he knew hers would not.

Pulling back, the Dralan heard his Amorsa cry softly, swallowing hard as she drew nearer to his chest. Burrowing her face into his metal armor, she trembled lightly in his embrace.

"Be strong, mea Amorsa," He whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Not even a war will draw my love away from you."

She hiccuped and nodded back, before pulling back to meet his gaze. There was a fierceness in her own.

"And not one single crazed male will ever tear down my love for you," She whispered back, strongly. A single tear shed her eyes, rolling down like a waterfall to stop a burning fire. "He will not conquer us."

The Dralan pressed his forehead against hers, rumbling deeply in agreement. Then, closing his eyes, he inhaled her scent for the last time, taking her scent as nourishment for his parched throat. And yet the ache hardly registered.

The Blithesome Miss had created him for this moment; to prove his rightful claim to the throne, to guard his kingdom, his bahks, his female and his young.

And today, he would show it for all the world.

Today, the Phlague ended.

*

His Lathras stood ready in the thousands waiting upon the dry, muddied ground surrounding his palace. Some mounted on horses, some on their feet, but all carrying heavy armor and weaponry, and the same thirst for justice at long last.

The Dralan rode out on his horse, watching how each Lathra bent his head in respect as he passed them. Today, he returned the favor. Today, it was their honor and loyalty that deserved respect.

"Lathras!" He roared, earning their attention as the wind howled across the field, sun sharp in the sky. The weather was to their advantage today. "You are not here today to serve me. You are not here today to show your loyalty to my rule. You are here," He roared louder, "for your females! For your families! For your children and for the kingdom you have entrusted me to uphold!"

He stared across the vast field of males. Each of them nodded and bit their teeth together, drummed their swords against their metal armor or banged their shields to their spears. All in unison, they approved and listened to his message.

"All of you fight today, not for me, but for the future of this land," He growled. "Today, we are not Dralans, Lathras or bahks. Today, we are servants of the Blithesome Miss, who is with us today as we take back the ways she has given us! We are here in Her name, to protect the innocent souls she put in our trust, the givers of life, the bringers of softness, kindness and all things good! We are here for them!"

A roar of metal clatters broke out among the ranks, cheers and whistles as all males fought to voice their support.

"I fight alongside you," He snarled, "I fight with you till the end. And if The Blithesome Miss should see fit to take me to her on this battlefield, then I want the fighting to continue!" He roared even louder. "My death means nothing! My life means nothing, my rule and my kingdom will be nothing if we do not fight till the very last enemy is slain on this battlefield! I will roar from the skies if I see surrender and bring thunder upon the ground, for it is not my life that matters!" He growled fiercely, pointing towards his Lathras. "It is your females. So fight for them, fight for your kingdom, fight for ALL that is right!"

The final roars of the males broke out, an impossible clatter and jarring of metal as all raised their weapons in unison. The ground shook beneath their feet, the horses whinnied and scraped their hooves, muddied boots stomped the ground and heavy armor clashed as all men began walking, following the Dralan's lead.

The horde of treacherous males were upon them. The tips of their war machines approached in the distance, and all the crazed males that followed roared back from the distance, their howls of displeasure like wasps in the air.

"From blood we are made, and from blood we shall drink. In blood we shall rut and in blood we will die," The Dralan rumbled in the old tongue. His sharp eyes narrowed upon the vile males in the distance, their numbers great and as blood thirsty as his own males.

But the one male he wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing under his breath, the Dralan knew he would never set himself on the front lines. The war was his plan to gain access to his castle, and he would no doubt try his best to make it past without being seen.

This was not his true battle—the only blood he craved was the Dralan's and his Dralaq's.

But his Leyla was safe in the highest tower, the Dralan reminded himself as he rode forward, lifting his weapon as everyone rode after him, setting into a gallop as the enemy lines drew nearer. Roars of war broke out, and soon, all those before them were mere feet away.

The Dralan had but one target; Find Phlague before the male found him.

Or his Leyla.

Find him and kill him.

And with a final roar, the battle begun.

*

Bloodied, bruised and with fire in his veins, the Dralan rode the battlefield, narrowing missing flying arrows and flying, burning boulders from the war machines. Crazed males tried to kill him, but they hardly breathed his air before they no longer held breath in their bodies. It had been half an hour of riding through the enemy ranks, slaying males and aiding his own Lathras when needed.

But still no sight of Phlague.

All his Lathras knew to look out for him. All knew that the one male was his to slay, but their to capture and incapacitate. If he died on accident to a blade, then so be it, but the Dralan knew the male would never allow himself to fall so easily.

Rumors had spread over the last few days leading up to the battle, rumors he had tried to deafen for his Leyla, but feared she might've caught wind of anyway. They held no fear to him, but if there was any truth to them, Phlague was not nearly as crazy and reckless as the males that followed him.

He had survived unseen thus far during his entire campaign. He had not been found or killed by a spy or even by poison, ambush or otherwise. He was strong and had combat experience, a well-versed warrior who in no way lacked in skill on the battlefield. He would not be easily felled, and if that was not enough... he had been feeding on Mihrs for months.

Fire roared in the Dralan's veins, but a fire just as consuming raged in his throat. His thirst was flaring, ripping a hole through the top of his mouth and the depths of his gut, but nothing could deter his will to find this male.

He would kill him, though he might join him seconds later from dying thirst. But he would kill him first, that much was certain.

Growling, his gut's fire burned harder as he tore through a group of crazed, frenzied males who charged towards him. He threw easy swings at their chest and throats, his horse galloping through them like an enraged bull.

But still no Phlague.

Curse the sky, he had to still be out here, The Dralan mentally cursed as he found a brief respite amidst the battleground to look around and search the perimeter. The ground shook with every boom from the war machines, the air flying with debris, dirt and blood. Still, his sight pierced through it all easily, yet found no vicious male out for his blood.

Though he knew not what he looked like, the Dralan knew his sight would not betray him when he found him. His scent, his rotten soul would easily hit him, the burning in his gut telling him this was the one.

But no one around elicited this sensation.

Growling, the Dralan reared his mount around and rode across the battlefield as he fought with his inner turmoils. Along the way, he slayed more males, spilled more blood, saved more Lathras, but something inside him was stirring. And this time it wasn't his gut.

The Dralan pulled the reins of his horse and halted as he laid a bloodied hand over his armor. Forcing his mind and body to still, to zone in on the gifts The Blithesome Miss had bestowed upon him, he listened with his soul to figure out what was wrong.

And that's when he knew; A simple tug in his heart told him all he needed to know.

Kicking his horse fiercely, he roared and felt his blood explode in his veins when realisation dawned on him and forced him to break sound barriers as he rode across the field, back towards the castle.

He was in the wrong place.

Byhron

He had never seen such death and destruction.

To his left and right, brave males were fighting for their lives, for their kingdom, and dying whilst trying. Phlague's males were frenzied and driven by pure lust of victory, sparing no mercy in their pursuit to take over the kingdom and have it befall to their rule. Byhron watched in agony as friends he had known for years were slaughtered, dying an honorable death for their kingdom and loved ones.

Roaring and fueled by the pain, Byhron tore through the maddening battlefield, him and a group of Lathras fighting to reach the war machines. They were far up on the hill, giving them a vantage point as they catapulted burning rocks of destruction down upon the battlefield, aiming towards the Dralan's palace. Every time one of the monstrous rocks hit the ground, the earth beneath them shook and exploded. Males, both good and bad, fell under the massive trembles and were forced onto their backs as debris flew everywhere. Screams of horror, pain and death sounded from every corner, everywhere he looked, pure chaos.

And still, he persisted.

With faith in his heart and the memories of those who he fought for, Byhron snarled and slayed the hunters down the second they were within his reach. His armor was dented, scraped and almost pierced several times, but he persisted as relentlessly as the hunters kept coming.

"We need to disarm those machines!" Luhkas roared over the impossible noise of blades meeting blades, fists meeting fists, and the deafening boom of the machines firing their explosive rocks. "If we take those out, we stand a living chance against this army! But if they breach our defenses—"

"We're all dead!" Another Lathra shouted back. "Those machines will be heavily guarded!"

"We must make it anyway!" Byhron growled back, spearing his sword through a crazed hunter who ran straight for him. The male fell dead to the ground with a pathetic thud. "If not us, then who? Charge forward or die trying!"

And so they all ran towards the closest machine, feeling the heat as the enemies defenses thickened. True to their suspicions, the machines were guarded heavily, but by a wide berth. It seemed all the hunters stayed in a perimeter around the massive machines, leaving untouched ground around the front of them.

"Why are they not defending it closer?!" Luhkas panted heavily, whilst cutting through another vicious hunter.

Byhron fought to sharpen his gaze towards the machine. It was a tall wooden catapult, bolted to a metal wagon with thick wheels. But between the glimpses of frenzied hunters, it was difficult to see the very base of the machine, the mob too thick to look through.

Right until...

"Sweet Blithesome Miss," Lukhas suddenly exclaimed, stopping and staring in horror as they managed to breach a small hole in the enemies defenses.

Females. Tied to each catapult, there were four females mounted and chained on each corner pillar of the machine. Like a morbid figurehead, they were strung up like innocent victims, forced to witness the battle before them.

But that wasn't all.

Each female was stripped down naked, bare for all to see. They were females of all ages, right down to the closet age of young maturity, to fully grown and matured.

"Those sick bastards!" Luhkas snarled furiously, Byhron roaring in anger at their sick strategy.

They couldn't take the machines down—not without injuring or killing the females first. They had mounted them like so to make the machines untouchable, unless they untied them first.

"We have to save them," Byhron ordered, any other course of action dismissed. There was no way he or anyone else were harming these females that had already been through enough terror in their life, being captured and tortured by Phlague and his males.

"How?" Luhkas cried while fighting through a new hoard of hunters who came to the machine's defenses. "There's no time to—"

"We have to!" Byhron snarled, charging forward. "Keep their ranks back while we untie them!"

More Lathras came to their aid, helping in the fight to take down the hunters while they freed the poor females. Byhron took the lead, along with a few other Lathras, and broke through the ranks, charging towards the machine pillars.

Coming to the nearest pillar, Byhron panted heavily, sweat stinging in his eyes. The Lathra beside him panted as well, but suddenly got a strange look on his face as he gauged the naked female before them.

"You free her right side, I'll take—"

But before Byhron could finish his sentence, the Lathra launched for the female and bit her neck. The female screamed and cried, fighting as the Lathra drank her blood. Byhron roared and didn't hesitate to pull the traitorous Lathra from her neck, pushing him to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" He roared, punching the Lathra hard.

"She—" The Lathra groaned and blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance. "I didn't mean to! She—Byhron, they're Mihrs!"

Byhron's fist froze mid-air. Slowly turning, his eyes drifted to the bound, naked female, and now noticed what he had missed amidst a battlefield of blood and gore.

Her wrists were cut, her veins bleeding open. Just enough to free her virgin scent, but not enough to bleed her dry. Byhron's eyes widened in horror, realizing why the male below him hadn't been able to control himself.

Sweet merciful Miss. They were Mihrs. Naked, pure and bleeding Mihrs, chained in a battlefield where adrenaline was high. Most well-sensed, decent males had trouble controlling themselves around fully clothed, non-bleeding Mihrs, but to see one naked and bleeding, her euphoric scent on a war field...

They didn't stand a chance. Every male, good hearted or bad, would fall mercy to the hypnotic, addictive scent of their sweet, pure blood.

These females weren't just put there to protect the machines; they were chained up as unwilling sirens, to turn even the good males over to the horrid side of the hunters. Unable to control themselves amidst the adrenaline rush of war.

"I'm sorry," The Lathra cried beneath him, wiping his mouth and looking disgusted about himself. "Byhron, we can't save them! No one here can withstand them, we must kill them to spare them—"

Byhron's head pounded. No. Even to spare them, Byhron simply couldn't touch a female. He saw his sister up there, in each and every single one of these innocent females, whose lives had barely begun, who all deserved a chance to become loved females. Their destiny wasn't to meet the end of a blade on a battlefield, simply because they had managed to keep their most valued virtue.

"No!" Byhron roared, releasing the Lathra and standing up. "They will not die."

"But Byhron—"

"Stay back!" He growled, before charging up to the female who once again screamed at the sight of Byhron's furious form coming towards her.

"Byhron, don't!" The Lathra screamed, thinking he was about to attack her like he had.

But instead, Byhron merely grabbed the dagger from his belt and tore through the ropes that bound the female's hand. She shrieked and flinched when he moved the blade against her, but then froze when no ill came to her. He simply cut the rope, letting it fall to the ground.

"H-how are you d-doing this?" She stammered, terrified. "P-Phlague told us no right male would—"

"No right male will be able to resist you," Byhron growled in agreement, piercing through another rope. "But I am not right."

The female's eyes widened in comprehension and then watched speechlessly as Byhron continued to cut her ties, unfazed by the scent he was not interested in.

And never would be.

"Bless you," The female whispered, sobbing silently as Byhron freed her last limb. She reached out and tenderly touched his cheek. "The Sweet Miss makes no mistakes. Bless you, honorable male."

Byhron's heart pounded as he tore off his cloak and draped it over the thankful female. He then looked back over his shoulder to see the other Lathras staring at him in horror and shock as well.

It seemed they had understood as well, and no words would ever undo the truth they had seen today.

And yet, none of them moved to harm him.

Not until Luhkas stepped forward, swallowing hard. "We will need more of you. Byhron, do you know who to trust?"

All the Lathras seemed to come to an understanding right there on the battlefield. They knew that whatever had unfolded just now was less important than winning this war. Right now, they had found a secret advantage and needed to move forward to secure the other naked females.

"Ahrron," Byhron spoke, staring at Luhkas who slowly nodded with a sense of more understanding. "Find him."

"You heard him!" Luhkas yelled, "Find the Kathmir!"

Byhron's chest unwound, seeing how the Lathras instantly scattered to fight the hunters, whilst others ran back towards the castle, where the Kathmirs were defending the palace perimeters. In the meantime, Byhron turned towards the female who was shaking and trembling in his arms.

"Stay here until we tell you otherwise," Byhron ordered, to which she nodded shakily. "I must go free the others."

"Bless you!" She kept crying, before Byhron ran off to untie the three other females on the war machine.

By the time he was freeing the last one, a hoard of Lathras were returning, seemingly protecting a male in the midst of them. It was with relief in his heart he saw the familiar brown shade of Ahrron's hair peaking out.

"What's going on?!" He yelled as he reached the machines, staring at them in horror, before his eyes fell to the naked females all trying to hide behind Byhron's cloak. "Sweet Miss in the Sky—"

"They're Mihrs!" Byhron roared. "The Lathras can't come near them! We need to free them and bring them to safety!"

Ahrron stared in disbelief for a second, then blinked and seemed to slowly kick into gear. "We?"

"We," Byhron confirmed, meeting his eyes with a strong look. "You and I."

Ahrron slowly seemed to understand, before a small smile lifted at the corner of his eye. "You and I."

"Let's go!" Byhron commanded, to which they both ran towards the next machine, the Lathras behind them paving the way forward.

The freed females stayed close by, and those strong enough began to help Byhron and Ahrron untie their sisters. All of them sobbed in shock at first, but then cried in relief once they saw the other freed females. Soon, more naked females were released, creating a small hoard of vulnerable females.

"We need to move some of them to safety now, before there's too many!" Ahrron shouted. "We need more vhrals!"

"Do you know any willing to come forward?" Byhron grunted as he tore through another rope.

"Willing? Probably not. But forcibly, during the circumstances? They will have to forgive me or condemn me later," Ahrron replied, before turning to Luhkas who was fighting more hunters. "The sweet Miss forgive me. Lathra! I need you to find the males with these names! They can help as well!"

And whilst Ahrron began listing a few names of males who could help, Byhron scanned the battlefield for a way to securely bring the females to safety. They needed to get them to the castle dungeons and catacombs, where they would be safe with the other Kischmirs of the castle.

"Lathras, give me your cloaks!" Byhron shouted, where after all the Lathras tore their cloaks off their backs and tossed them towards him. "Females, drape yourselves in them and try and bind your wounds! Tear a few strips off and stop the bleeds! It will have to do for now while we move you."

"W-where to?" One female cried.

"Inside the castle, to the catacombs. All the Kischmirs are there, tending to the wounded," Ahrron replied, coming back after speaking with Luhkas. "We are gathering more trusted males to move you. Once they arrive, we will circle you, and the Lathras will circle us. Then we will move as a unit across the battlefield until we reach the castle walls. Byhron and I will stay behind to free the other females."

"Bless you," The females chanted in sobs, before another loud explosion tore through the air and deafened their surroundings.

For what felt like hours, the males worked together in tandem, vhrals and Lathras alike. The Lathras fought the surrounding guards of each war machine, before Byhron, Ahrron and the other vhrals he had summoned tore through to the tied up females and released them. Then, as a unit, some of the vhrals escorted the females back to the castle, surrounded by a hoard of fighting Lathras to secure their way.

And in the aftermath, more Lathras arrived to begin destroying the freed war-machines.

Every muscle and bone in Byhron's body ached and protested as they ran back and forth, fought and narrowly escaped death whilst freeing the abused females. Most of them seemed lifeless at first, as if they had accepted their fate, until they suddenly got released from their binds and draped in warm cloaks. The gratitude and gratefulness overwhelmed Byhron as almost every single one of them burst into tears and blessed him and Ahrron and the other vhrals.

To be so accepted in a battlefield full of wrongs... Byhron never knew that such acceptance could exist and could feel so right.

"We are almost at the last machine!" Ahrron shouted, looking as exhausted and sweaty as himself. He, too, had torn several rips in his robes, mostly to help stop the Mihrs bleeding, but some also from swords narrowly missing his body. He wore no armor like Byhron, only thin leather pants and a cotton tunic and shirt.

Byhron had the sudden urge to abandon all his armor and give it up to him.

"Stay close by!" He shouted back, watching the females huddle together as they followed orders. "After this, we will take you all down to—"

But just then, Byhron felt it. His blood started rushing through his body, his veins pulsing and throbbing in a way he had only experienced a few times before. This was not the adrenaline in his body wearing off, but rather the surge a new adrenaline, but not from himself.

Byhron's eyes immediately fled to Ahrron. Despite his scrapes and cuts, he was unharmed as he approached the last machine and began untying a female. He was safe and healthy, which meant...

Sweet merciful Miss, no.

"Bhria," Byhron gasped and placed a hand over his chest to feel the way his heart pounded in fear. Blood of his blood...

"Byhron! Come on, let's go!" Ahrron shouted, looking back over his shoulder to see why he was stalling. "We need to—what's wrong?" He furrowed his brows, seeing the Lathra standing still with a horror-stricken face.

"Something is wrong," Byhron declared, rubbing his chest. "I feel... I think I feel—"

A surge of fear climbed up his spine like an electric shock and Byhron gasped, shaking his head. He met Ahrron's eyes who widened in understanding.

"Bhria!" He shouted, Byhron nodding frantically. "Go to her!"

"But... she's safe! She's with the Dralaq!" He roared back, not understanding. She was meant to be safe. She was inside the castle, protected heavily by armed guards. How could they possibly be in danger?

"Byhron," Ahrron now rushed up to him and placed his hand over his heart. "Listen to your blood, do not question it. What is it telling you?"

It was telling him his sister was scared shitless and in danger. But that couldn't be...

"Go to her," Ahrron insisted with haste, shaking him back to reality. "We can handle things here. Go to her and check her safety, and if it's a false alarm, you know where to find us."

Byhron clenched his jaw, but then finally surrendered. The urgency in his body made him take a last glance at Ahrron who gave him a reassuring smile, before pushing him away.

"Go."

With a roar of frustration and rage, Byhron then tore off towards the castle, leaving behind his heart and soul on the battlefield.

And the coldest fear deep in his stomach gave him the feeling that he may have just seen those deep amber eyes for the last time.