Parallel Vol.2 [Legacy Edition]

Chapter 40: Extinction

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Only a few hours after the bridge's completion, news spread far and wide across Destia, confirming to her inhabitants the earnestness of Rosendun's desire to conquer Merriheim.

The people of Merriheim themselves seemed divided by the news. Many had become so disillusioned to war that this seemed to them just another phase that would come and pass just like many before it. After all, had many not tried the same in the past and failed? Though wounded and beaten, Merriheim always emerged intact after every battle or war. This new threat would be the same... If not, what was the worst that could happen? Their lives were hell either way.

Others were not quite as optimistic.

In fact, a few days later, a rowdy meeting was being conducted in a run-down (but still functioning) fort town some kilometers north-west of Deserun to address the very situation. This town—called Darnith—though small, was situated on quite the strategic landmark.

It occupied a territory on the King's Road (a term used to signify main roads between cities) across which one would have to pass if they wished to either visit Imperium or advance further into Merriheim. All three of Merriheim's major roads leading to Imperium had been destroyed during the war, as a tactic of preventing the Markothian Empire from having easy access to the Imperial City.

After the war, Darnith no longer had any strategic value. Also, the burning desert's creation ceased supply of water to its only source of clean water: a stream that channeled close-by. Most folks abandoned the town soon after. They either became wanderers* or migrated further north to either Ralffall or Moyan, both small cities situated along the semi-circular border between Merriheim and Drakase.

This meeting—like with so many Merrite meetings—had more shouting and screaming than any actual decisions made. Leaders from several factions insulted each other over the table, some resorting to fisticuffs to prove their point.

At one end of the table, a lithe hooded figure raised her mug as a Nordic warrior and a Lycan* crashed onto the table, snapping its legs beneath their weight. The resulting draft brushed off her cowl, revealing a bored, and disappointed female of the Chetah race. She was dressed in minimalist manner, with only armguards for protection and small pieces of cloth that covered her more sensitive parts.

Before she could leave however, she had to bid goodbye to Sheri Othana: the only prime in this desolate country with a shred of foresight. The Halben woman held her place at a stone chair at the head of the table, regarding the proceedings with almond-shaped blue eyes that resembled lagoons. Her once unblemished skin—taken care of by the perfumes and waters of Mònòch—was now ruddy and hard, having acclimatized to Merriheim's harsh weather.

Her outfit was as comfortable as it was commanding, worn almost as practically as her long straight, red hair, which she brushed over her shoulder as the ashen-furred woman approached.

"Asha," Othana greeted. Her voice was somewhat hoarse, probably from shouting at the feral men throughout the day. "You're not staying?"

The Chetah grunted. "No." With that, all pleasantries were completed and she exited the hall, stopping only to retrieve her swords. Her magnificently long tail was the last thing Othana saw before the door slammed shut. The draft produced tore a poster off the wall, where it was swiftly picked up by the desert wind.

Asha's clawed paws trudged through the ruins, sand-colored eyes narrowed in disgust at the destroyed buildings around her. They reminded her too much of things she could never forget.

She deliberately stepped on a straw doll in an attempt to banish the weeping cub that plagued her mind. The cub that choked on smoke from her burning village, forced to watch her father beaten, then dragged out by the primes. All to participate in a stupid war...