The Abattoir
Disaster / Destruction
21
209/3 300:00
209/3 300:00
21
209/3 983:00
209/3 983:00
The Abattoir is known as the true start of Adonis. After a rampage-inducing disease is set over the human villages, a brutal massacre kills all but seven inhabitants.
To the Human Village of Surlian, they believed were the heroes, the explorers, and rulers of the land as they saw fit. They conquered the plains around them, forcing compliance from all those they came across. Their food was undeniable, covering the grassy plains with the sweet scents of freshly baked goods. They created fine armour out of all they looted from those who wouldn’t submit; their weaponry and gear like none other they had come across in their travels. Their forces were strong, but their connections stronger. Their children; smart, but their battle tactics were smarter. They were the pinnacle of health and success-at least in their eyes.
To anyone else, the Human village of Surlian was stuffed to the brim with selfish, careless, and ignorant bastards. No village within walking distance of them lasted for more than a season, and anyone who visited them was not to return. They were ruthless in their raids; taking anything and everything that had even an ounce of worth. Food, weapons, metals, livestock; nothing was left beside the bodies of those who stood in their way. Once they found horses and @Rialals, their raids grew larger and moved further and further away from their base. They took more, as they no longer depended on what little they could carry, and rarely-if ever-left survivors. They wanted to conquer the world and would stop at nothing to ensure they were at the top.
Now, typically, gods are not supposed to involve themselves in any part of their creation besides, well, the creating. Once the process is over and they have populated the barren plains, they are to step back and watch their work unfold. If things go south, there is nothing they can do. They must allow the world to do what the world will do. But, the inhabitants of Surlian had managed to piss off much more than just the other creatures around them. Word had gotten around to the Tizior Guild of Gods (the ones who created the Planet) about the village and their habits; four extinct species and nearly sixty burned villages later, the Human’s had found their names written in blood on the Gods ’ lips.
Theolene was determined to follow the rules, while Ezhilan threw out a dozen different ways to get rid of the Village of Surlain. Zandra and Zakia refused to plot against their own creations, but Octaviana had already discovered what those wretched creatures had done to her animals and wanted to make the process as painful as possible. Ithran begged them not to get involved; if they were caught the entire planet would be destroyed and the Tizoir guild would be banned from ever creating again. Amadour stood by; he preferred to stay out of conflict.
“What would Tria do?!” Zandra exclaimed, “she would allow nature to take its course. We’ve involved ourselves too much as it is!” Tria, of course, being the Mother of the Universe.
“Tria,” Exhilan barked, slamming his hand against the table, “would get rid of these termites destroying our world so everyone else could enjoy whatever course nature has set them on! Four extinct species, done solely by these vile creatures, and you want me to stand by?! They’ve only had twenty-one years to grow, imagine what they will do in fifty!”
Theolene sighed, “please, gods; we cannot get involved. It is horrible what they are doing, yes, but I cannot risk the life of the entire planet for the lives of a couple hundred Elves and Orcs.”
Ezhilan could merely scoff at her ignorance; what kind of Leader would allow a massacre of her own beings?
That night, Ezhilan let his mind delve into dark places. The conversation they had had that day was not the first on the topic, but he was determined to make it their last. He thought up every way to finally rid of their problem, pacing the grassy plains of the paradise they had created for themselves in the western sea. While the other gods slept inside, Ezhilan fabricated humans from thin air, testing and experimenting the fastest way they could perish. Swords weren’t a guaranteed death, poison took too long, and anything huge using magic involved him far too much to seem innocent after the fact.
As the sun peeked just over the horizon, Ezhilan looked upon his nights’ work in the light for the first time; blood splattered the sandy beach, pooling under bodies torn to shreds by none other than himself. No matter how he killed them, it was all too obvious it had been done by him. Whether it was the type of blade used, the poison in their veins, or the traces of his magic; Ezhilan had to find some way of killing them without...killing them.
As the sky turned from darkness to a pink haze, Ezhilan slumped against a rock in defeat. Crabs and bugs roamed the soggy sand, picking and choosing from the tiny carcasses swept in by the late-night tides. A bright red crab, no larger than his fist, plucked the decaying flesh from the body of some poor seagull-long gone from the cruelty of their world. As another crab approached, the bright red crab tried to fend it off, claiming the bird as his. The fight carried on, taking them further down the beach until the red crab had torn the other to shreds, now feasting on the body of his opposed.
‘Ruthless, savage little monsters,’ Ezhilan thought, kicking sand towards the creature. The crab put it’s pincers in the air, seemingly glaring at the God. Getting to his feet, Ezhilan could help but stare at the losing opponent, slightly disgusted watching the winner tearing it apart. Ezhilan grabbed the bright red crab from the sand, glaring back at it as it snapped its pincers towards his face. He felt a light go off in his head.
Ezhilan leapt to his feet, but not before tearing the little crab to shreds with his own two hands. He threw the body to the sand, snapping his fingers and watching as the humans’ bodies dissipated before his very eyes. He didn’t bother informing the rest of the Guild of his momentary absence; they would simply try to stop him, spewing the same dumb lines from their last meeting. He would deal with this once and for all. No more contemplation or destruction. He put them into this world, and he was going to take them out of it.
With another simple snap of his fingers, Ezhilan had allowed himself to teleport to the last known location of the force. From what he had heard, the force was the group of humans causing most of the problems. A legion of twenty-five men, venturing into the unknown and killing all that they came across. Surely enough, a massive cluster of tents sat on the horizon, little-if any-movement coming from the camp. Fire pits smoked, horses whined, and men snored. There couldn’t have been a better time.
Ezhilan threw his hands into the air, “gentlemen! What pain has the rest of the land endured because of your selfishness? Whatever terror and torture you have brought to this land shall be brought upon you. I believe in karma, a lady of her craft, but why she hasn’t brought your day of judgement upon you, I am unsure. I would say your saviour has arrived, as I swept my feet against your camp, but I know that no good will come of this day for you. So, come with me and look at your sons and daughters for the final time as you embed that stolen axe into their skulls.”
It took no time for the “force” to do only what was expected of them; seemingly the only thing they were good at. They charged at full speed towards the purple-skinned creature, never before seen to their eyes. But as they attempted an attack, chains shot from the ground, wrapping them tight so they could not move. Ezhilan merely coughed, spewing his newly concocted disease from his lips. If he had done everything right, this disease would send the men into a rampage, blindly killing anything and everything they could get to; including their wives, their children, and themselves.
Ezhilan skipped across the plains, pulling twenty-five beasts in tow. As they approached the village of Surlian, children and women alike ran out to greet their fathers and husbands. Instead of their loving father, or their battle-worn husband; the inhabitants of Surlain look upon snarling monsters held back by nothing more than a chain. With a snap of his fingers, the chains dissipated and suddenly the men were set free to terrorize their own. Ezhilan patted himself on the back, before dissipating into thin air just as their chains had.
On the other side of the village, unaware of the hell that would soon unfold, sat a seventeen year old boy-none other than Letherian Minvahla. He basked in the sun with his dear friend Zoi, discussing things that, at the time, felt important, but would soon mean nothing in comparison to the true problems at hand. They snacked on bread and jams, dreaming of the days on the Force that they would never get to experience. Letherian wanted to take over the Force and lead them into a better future; hopefully one with less murder, fire, and raids. Koi wanted to be just like his mother, Luna. She had passed away from an illness only years prior, but her time in Surlian was spent creating beautiful clothing for her neighbours, inventing many different pieces that would be passed down through generations.
As they laughed and talked, a girl around the same age as them came sprinting out of the village, blood splattering what was left of her torn clothing. She was from the outer sector of Surlian, known mostly for having two Moms. Her name was Mesrena, and she was charging at full speed away from Thorn, Letherian’s father.
Letherian called out to his dad, slowly getting to his feet.
Thorn froze, turning his attention away from the screaming girl. His roar echoed through the mountains as he, with battle-axe in hand, set his intention to kill on his son. His face was like nothing Letherian had ever seen from his father before; rage and fire ignited in his eyes as he drew closer and closer to the boys. Zoi screamed in fear, grabbing Letherian’s arm and dragging him to the village to get help.
The streets of Surlian quickly proved themselves helpless; no peace, nor protection could be found anywhere. The “force” destroyed houses, killed children, and chased their wives, letting those they loved fall victim to blades of their axes and arrows. Fires ignited, blood-splattered, and the people prayed to gods who felt no pity for the merciless. Truly, their day of judgement had come, and Karma, a true lady of her craft, had wrought the terror she believed they deserved.
Zoi stopped running, freezing in terror above the body of his mother; headless on their front steps. Letherian stood, unsure, but quickly carried on as another monster of a man rounded the corner. He dove into his house through the window, shoving a chair in front of what was left of their door.
“Adonis! Adonis! We need to leave! Come on!” Letherian yelled into the remains of his house; the kitchen had been ransacked, nothing left but the shattered glass on the floor. He sprinted from room to room, ignoring the blood that seemed to appear on every wall. Finally, he came to his sister’s room. He kicked in the door, finding her body stuffed into the corner while a man he recognized as Lymeria's Father darted out the window.
Quietly, Letherian rushed over to his sister and checked for any sign of life. The gashes in her arms and torso were enough to tell him what he needed to know. Adonis was dead, and his mother was nowhere to be found. Fighting back the urge to scream, Letherian ran to his room, grabbing the only thing in the house left untouched; his father’s sword. He had to get to the mountains; he would find Mesrena and they would find aid in another village.
As Letherian rushed out the front door, he hit a mass at full force. He hit the ground with a thud. Thorn stood over him, battle axe raised. Letherian held up the sword in defence, preparing for impact...but there was nothing. He opened his eyes; his father stared into the intricately carved hilt of the blade.
“Go,” Thorn roared, “get out of here!”
Letherian clambered to his feet, looking to his father one last time, “let me help-”
Thorn swung his axe, missing Letherian by a mere inch and deeply embedded it into the wood of the house. The man shook with rage, “leave, Letherian! Go!”
Letherian charged towards the mountains at full speed, following the footprints Mesrena had left in the mud. His speed didn’t waver until he reached the top of the valley, looking down upon what little there was left of his village. Fires smoked from every house while screams echoed after every movement.
“LETHERIAN!” A voice screamed from the fields below. Griflyn Sharus, fought off three of the men, giving two other boys, Idnos and Iaos, time to get away from their attackers. “HELP, PLEASE! THERE ARE STILL SOME LEFT!”
Letherian’s mind spun. He would not survive if he went back, but there was little chance he would make it in the mountains either. Mesrena was somewhere out there, they would come back with help for the survivors.
He merely sighed, turning his back to the village and sprinting into the mountains.