Ouroboros Book III: Demon-Blood, Excerpt, Chapter 17

Somehow, I've become inspired to resume writing and try to finish the many projects I've started. One of the biggest things I have to do is to continue on with book 3 of my epic fantasy series: Ouroboros. Each book is intended to be its own tale, but together they represent the alternating push and pull of good and evil forces, which could lead up to the end of the world.

In the third book, titled Demon-Blood, the story tracks a woman named Vykara, who becomes victimized by her husband, and resorts to the power of a demon named Loki (yes, the Norse god, but nowhere near the same as the dude in the Thor movies) to take revenge. From then on, she becomes a fugitive to the kingdom, and finds her way to the forest of the dark elves (the Svartálfar), who are threatened by the kingdom's ever-growing townships. She decided to rally the elves and wage war against the kingdom, plundering the towns until she has enough resources to besiege and capture the city of Lunaheim. After a lengthy siege, the city falls into her control, and all of the nation of Narsing with it. However, the war is far from over. In these scenes, the next stage of the conflict is revealed.

This story is a particularly dark and bleak tale of violence and sadism, meant to chronicle the genesis of evil and tyranny on a personal, political, and spiritual level. Even though she is the main character, Vykara is the villain of the story. The world she inhabits is comprised of multiple pieces of myth from around the world, but most of this story draws upon the lore and culture of the ancient Norse. This is a very wicked story I'm working on, but I hope to find a solid balance to keep the character's pathos compelling (by making her a villain we can root for) and the story overall engaging. I hope this except will give you a small but captivating taste of what this book will be like.

[Warning: contains graphic violence]
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          At one end [of the great hall], a company of men awaited; four of them were thegns clad in ornate leather armor, and one was the emissary wearing a rich, elaborate silk robe.
          Standing at my throne, I regarded the visitors sharply. One of the guards announced, “My lady, the emissary from Farsil wishes to have an audience with you.”
          I wore a smile, to mask my own feelings of contempt and loathing, and greeted sweetly, “Fellow countrymen, welcome to Lunaheim. To what do I owe the pleasure of your illustrious company?”
          “Forgive us if we do not kneel before your presence, Lady Vykara Guntersdottir,” the emissary scowled. “You may look and act as a queen, but you have no such true power. You are a usurper! A thief to the throne of Narsing! Even as we speak, King Hogarth has claimed sanctuary in Gildenheim, and together with King Forgswulf, he is raising an army to take back Narsing and return its throne to its rightful owner!”
          “Well, you’re straight to the point, aren’t you?” I remarked.
          Raising a hand, the emissary continued, “However, if you surrender now, evacuate your elfin kin from this city, and give yourself up to the authorities, we will spare everyone of unnecessary war and bloodshed. Your fate will be lenient, and the Svartálfar will be free to return to their forests without harassment.”
          “Well, since you’ve been so blunt with me, I shall be blunt with you. I have no intention of surrendering, no matter how lenient your king will be.”
          “Please be reasonable. Can you really expect to besiege this fair city, steal its throne, and massacre so many people, without retribution? It is by Odin’s will that we will exact justice upon you!”
          “Justice?” I shouted. “Where was my justice when my husband beat me? Where was the elves’ justice when their homes were threatened? Where was justice when your thegns attack and pillage foreign kingdoms? Do not talk to me of justice, when it is you and your f!&king kingdom that’s dispensing all this misery! No, it is I who will exact justice upon you!”
          All around the hall, my guards drew their weapons and stepped closer to the emissary. Their menacing presence made the men agitated. The emissary begged, “My lady, I am just the messenger. These are the terms my lord has given me. I am in no position to discuss terms with you. But I hope you consider these terms carefully. The army of the two kings will be in the tens of thousands. They have superior arms and superior supply lines. If it comes to war, there is no way you can win.”
          “Tell your kings this: I want nothing more than to be left alone. But if my country is attacked, I will defend it. If it comes to war, it will be by your hand, not mine. If your kings do decide to declare war, they better be ready, because we will show no mercy or remorse.”
           “Are you certain about your response? You know damn well that King Hogarth will not accept these terms. He will declare war on you.”
          “Good. Let him bring war. I want war. My Svartálfar brethren want war. Give us a reason to wage war, so that we can burn your cities, slaughter your kin, plunder your farmlands, and subjugate your women! Give us a reason to torment your nations; I want to see them all crumble and burn, until the entire Kingdom of Nordsten exists no more!”
          “Are you mad, woman?” the emissary gasped. “You speak as if you’re the harbinger of the Ragnarök!”
          “Maybe I am. If so, then mankind’s twilight is falling fast, and I will be there to see it through to the end. And I will be laughing at mankind’s folly, as it dies a slow and agonizing death! And if your kings’ war will help usher in this new dark age, then perhaps we should give them an incentive.”
          All at once, my guards closed in on the emissary’s escorts and attacked. One of the human guards was instantly killed, as an elfin blade sliced through his neck and lopped off his head. Blood spurted from the wound, coating the emissary and the others in crimson.
          The other men pulled out their swords in time to defend against the elves. They put up a strong defense, but the elves matched their skill with brutality and terror. One of the elves gnashed his teeth against a guard’s ear, ripping the flesh off and making the man scream in agony. The other two guards were beat down with elfin blades, until their bodies were mutilated piles of gore on the floor.
          Disgusted, the emissary crumpled to his knees in a trembling fit. The elves gathered the heads of the man’s guards and held them out by their hair. I told the emissary, “Take these heads. Present them to your kings, along with my words. I will be waiting on the battlefield for their response!”
          The emissary was in a state of shock, unable to move. The elves had to pry open his hands and force him to carry the severed heads. As he was escorted out, I rested on the throne; in the silence that followed, the rage inside of my subsided, and doubt started to creep over my mind once again.
          The question came out of my subconscious, taking me by surprise: what was it that I was doing? I had come so far, conquering Lunaheim and all of Narsing, with a host of elves at my side. But the terror I was inflicting, out of so much brash impulse and aggression, didn’t feel like my own actions. It felt as though I was going through the motions of a living nightmare; I saw myself hurting Aonia, threatening other kingdoms, watching blood being spilled in my name, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop the spreading misery. I should have been content to end my quest here and now, to hold my position in Narsing. I didn’t need more conquest. And yet, I had antagonized a neighboring kingdom, and invited war into my life once again.
          My eyes settled on the blood on the floor, left from the slain guards. The thought of war made me feel excited again; the familiar addiction to murder drowned out my conscience. The path was set, and I could not alter it.

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