WH inspired book chapter 2 (rough draft)

Angar shook his head, trying to get the words to go away.  He knew demon trickery when he saw it, proven by the tickle of dark whispers that were nagging at his mind.

Thankfully, the words disappeared, and they did so in time for him to watch his father, his brothers, and every high-ranking warrior of Mecia being killed by demons.

He scanned the battlefield on both sides and failed to see a single dead demon.

He had to decide, and quickly.  He chose to continue with the plan.

The axes and hammers of the best warriors of Mecia and Kondune were failing to fell these creatures.  Mount Shirdis erupting should do the trick, thought Angar.

He began sprinting again, this time going all out, as fast as he could.  What felt like an intolerably long time later, he spotted the entrance to the main cave leading up to the flat lip of the volcano.

Angar was covered in sweat, taking ragged gulps of air into his burning lungs, which burned all the more from the heavy fog that had settled like a blanket over the land earlier.

His face set in resolved determination, he picked up the pace, only slowing when he reached the cave entrance.

And what he saw in the yawning gallery was a more horrific scene than the demons slaughtering everyone on the battlefield.

Most caves had rock traps set to block access.  The trap for this gallery's only tunnel had been tripped, and rocks blocked the way.  He could see the two guards assigned to his mother buried in the rockslide.

There were seven other bodies, those of seven women in late pregnancy, their bellies cut open, the children removed.

Angar's mother sat in the center of a pentagram, covered in blood, her eyes staring out into nothing.

Without moving her eyes or a muscle, the Weirding Witch said, "You Mecians are always so ready to die.  I said I needed seven females to sacrifice themselves in the name of your Great Lord.  So many eagerly jumped at the chance.  I picked only those heaviest with child, and they still came."

Angar couldn't find his voice.  His mind wouldn't accept what it was seeing.  This wasn't his mother.  It wasn't.  It couldn't be.

"I spoke to some being named Moloch," his mother continued.  "He said he'd kill all the invaders.  He needed seven children sacrificed in his name first.  I gave him his children.  First, he thanked me, then he showed me the demons slaughtering not just the invaders, but everyone on the battlefield.  He laughed at me."

Still, Angar couldn't speak.  He wanted to reply, but other than catching his breath, no sound came out of his mouth.

Finally, his mother looked at him.  "He's dead, isn't he?" she asked.  "Your father?"

"He is," Angar replied.  "What were you...this...why?  This...this is a grave sin against the Great Lord."

The Weirding Witch laughed.  "If He's so great, why would He finally unite me with my lover, have your legitimacy formally recognized in court, make me so very happy, and then snatch it all away so soon after?"

All the surprise and confusion within Angar was replaced with rage.  Without even thinking, his hands gripped tightly around his hammer's haft, and he thought of killing his mother.  "He did none of that!  This is our realm!"

More words appeared in his eyes. 

You stand before a Heretic so vile, she has torn asunder the veil between your world and the Underworld, birthing an incursion of abyssal fiends.  By the Seven Edicts and the sacred tenets of Holy Trinitarianism, you are commanded to strike down Heretics with relentless zeal and without mercy, their blood a sacrament to cleanse the stain of their foul Heresy.

But here lies a paradox wrapped in the flesh of your own lineage, for this Heretic is your mother.  The scriptures of our blessed Holy Trinity, and those of the forgotten faiths and lost litanies of the old world, speak of a sin so dark it supplants our Divine edicts—the sin of parricide, the killing of one's mother or father.

Therefore, in this crucible of judgment, the choice is yours alone, free from consideration of retribution, but know you stand upon the precipice of possible damnation.  Whether you choose to act as a vessel of righteous justice or spare this foul Heretic, know this also – your standing in the eyes of Theosis, the Holy System, shall not shift.  You shall neither be considered more nor less a Heretic for this decision. 

Angar shook his head until the words went away.  He wouldn't be surprised if this Moloch his mother spoke of was the source of the words, trying to manipulate him.

He thought about asking the Weirding Witch if the tickle of dark whispers in his mind and these words he was being shown were caused by Moloch, but he was sure they were.

Then he saw a single tear trickle down his mother's cheek.  So, she has some decency left within her, he thought.

"I raised you to be tough and strong," she said.  "A worthy child of your father, a source of pride.  It was difficult, and there was pain, but it worked.  Just look at you, my son.  And we were called to our king's side.  He recognized you as legitimate.  I couldn't stand by and do nothing.  You must understand.  I want those I love to live.  I love you and Baraga so much.  Does that make me such a bad person?"

Angar scoffed, his tight grip loosening on his hammer.  "Killing these women and children was sick and depraved.  It can't be justified.  Not for any reason."

As he spoke, Angar walked forward to snatch up his mother's pouch.  He set his hammer down and checked to ensure the pouch contained all the holy relics.  It did.

He thought the correct relic was the glowing blue ball, but he couldn't be certain.  He held it up, and it was much heavier than its size indicated.  "Is this the holy relic?  The one that will cause Mount Shirdis to erupt?"

The Weirding Witch laughed.  "You still plan on doing so?  If you erupt that volcano, you'll be responsible for far more innocent deaths than I am for these here.  Far more."

Angar sighed.  "Mecia is three leagues away.  I doubt the eruption will harm anything that distant.  And most of the women and children have been fleeing east since morning.  They’re well out of danger."

His mother laughed again, nearly cackling.  "The old petroglyphs that teach us witches so much say differently.  The eruption will be far larger and deadlier than you think.  We were supposed to be away from here, all of us, and leave this task to another.  If you throw that relic in Shirdis, we all die."

"We'll all die anyway!” shouted Angar.  “All of us, by demon or volcanic eruption.  Only one way kills these creatures you unleashed upon us too."

With this cave blocked, the only other cave he knew for certain led up to the lip of Mount Shirdis wouldn't be easy to get through.

He had never been in it.  Supposedly, it was filled with acidic pools of water connecting to an underground stream and inhabited by enormous grawloks, creatures that took three warriors working together to safely take down.

Then I’ll just have to fight as three men, thought Angar.  He started walking out of the cave.

"You're just leaving me here?" his mother called out.

"I must go."

"Wait!  Please don't leave me," she pleaded.

"I have demons to kill and family to avenge.  Today, our king, all the warriors of Mecia, and I ascend to Qitakai in glory."

The Weirding Witch started crying in earnest.  He turned his head to look at her.  Her body racked with sobs.  She looked at her son and said, "Just kill me, then."

As he walked out of the cave, Angar called back, "I won't."

He sprinted as fast as he could to the cave entrance he needed.  It wasn't all that far away, but it was far enough that his chest was heaving upon reaching it.

He slowed and gripped his hammer with both hands before entering deep into the caverns. 

Even at noon, the outside was always gloomy.  The yellow-orange, hazy sky of the day, with all the thick, darkly swirling clouds, only brightened when lightning flashed.  But there was a lot of lightning, so it flashed often.

A lot of the flora and fauna on Vefol glowed, and this cave, with all the moisture from the water and acidic pools, had plenty of life within it.  The ground-hugging myca and thick strands of pasia drooping from the ceiling and walls illuminated the cave well enough to see almost as well in here as outside.

Angar tried to move quickly and carefully through the tunnel.  The first intersection forked three ways, but it was clear which path was more traveled, so he took that one.

The next fork was near a massive pool.  The correct path was easy to spot again, and all the grawloks in the pool were easy to spot too, as much of their shells glowed.

These creatures were enormous, with hard, chitinous, and scaled exoskeletons.  The places their bodies didn't glow had a metallic sheen.  They were flat and wide, with multiple legs jointed in ways that allowed them to climb vertically.  Their main weapons were two giant claws and a fang-filled, frighteningly large maw.

One grawlok was half-emerged from the pool, staring at him with its big eyes as its weird eyelids blinked.

This was the moment of destiny.  Glory or ignominy awaited.  He wished he had spears to throw, but he didn't, and his hammer would serve plenty well enough.  He hefted it high above his head as he charged forward.

As a claw lunged at him, he brought his hammer down upon it with thunderous force.  He heard the shell crack as he spun away, evading the other claw, and his hammer smashed into the joint where the appendage joined the body with another satisfying crunch.

He had no time to recover from his swing before the other claw struck again.  Unable to dodge, he blocked with the haft of his hammer.

He cursed himself for the mistake as the grawlok gripped the haft, nearly wrenching it from his grasp.  As he fought to reclaim his weapon, the second claw darted toward him again.

Had the joint connecting that claw to the body not been injured, he might have met his end then and there.  But its injury caused that appendage to move sluggishly, awkwardly, allowing him to twist away while maintaining his desperate grip on his weapon.

Then the grawlok propelled its many legs forward, its maw gaping wide open, its fangs glittering with a metallic sheen.

Angar barely managed to jump onto the creature's head, using it as a platform to vault over the claw grasping his weapon.

There was a great chance this stunt would cost him his weapon, but as gravity and his weight brought him down, the claw twisted horrifically, and with a sickening crack, it released the hammer.

The creature's many legs clicked on the stone ground as it turned to face him.  Angar couldn't hesitate.  He charged, evading the other damaged claw, and smashed his hammer onto the grawlok's bizarre head.

The claw struck again, catching an arm, sending blood spraying over the wet ground.  He retaliated with a swift strike to the appendage, rewarded by another satisfying crack.

The creature lunged once more, its maw wide open.  Angar could only move one way, and that way got him caught in the pit of the injured joint of the second claw and nearly bowled over.  But he avoided the deadly bite.  And, luckily, he managed to keep his feet under him.

From this awkward position, his leverage was poor, but he still managed to smash his hammer into the joint once more, cracking the shell enough to expose the flesh beneath.

He rolled backward twice, avoiding the mouth, and with all the strength he could muster, he stepped forward and brought his hammer down onto the grawlok's head, and all his strength proved to be enough.  The creature's head slammed into the floor, and it stayed there, motionless.

Not taking any chances, he brought the hammer down again and again, until the head was no longer recognizable.

By the grace of the blessed Messiah, what a clash!  You have felled that monstrous crustacean, a creature of some doughty might.  Such valor and victory should be celebrated with the gift of experience points, marking you as a true warrior of our faithful Laity.  But this day, you have chosen the path of the craven, fleeing from the infernal horde of Hellspawn rather than charging into their ranks, righteous wrath filling your heart, and fervorous zeal filling your thoughts.  For such cowardice, you earn nothing, you spineless wretch.