Mt. Ohm - God Slayer by K. van Marshall (romantic love story reading .txt) 📖

or the fact the he was at the point of no return why his body refused to stop shivering.

In truth, it was that the last remnants of Niisarm - his nakama, loyal comrades and precious friends - had followed him this far, too far. Zweek can not see anyway out of this predicament, not without losing more of his beloved family. However, right now, he had no time to dwell on that ocean sized issue, there were more immediate worries to attend.

Issue number one; the massive grey stone Winford castle waiting patiently for them at the end of the suspiciously empty courtyard.

Issue number two; the lack of guards which made the rueful march to doom even more intense.

Surprisingly, Niisarm had been left alone to ponder their erratic thoughts, with only the cold Wastham night to accompany them. For Zweek, today the slow agonising anticipation before a battle is far worse than immediate action.

Behind Zweek, the fifty survivors of Niisarm followed closely. Their nervous scuffling footsteps quietly scrape through the courtyard, bouncing off the walls along with the sharp whistles of a rasping wind. The chill only grew as the group wafted closer to the ominous endpoint. A cold, soul stealing gust roamed the dead end, warning Zweek and his nakama that the sweet embrace of infinity was near.

With his warm hazel eyes darting from left to right, then forward again, Zweek observed their surroundings. Two massive walls either side funnelled them towards stairs and a pair of huge wooden doors ahead. The entrance of Winford, it stands menacingly high above the approaching troop.

There's nobody stationed at the welcome hatch, thought Zweek, he expected there to be someone to greet them at the door. A loud mouthed guard, the announcer of guests, usually greets all from the fortified balcony above the castle door.

Zweek continues to switch focus, expecting  to be swamped by guards any minute.

Although the pheenome Novus may be gone, with leaders like Zweek, Stow and Xena present, the footsoldiers of Niisarm still hold a glimmer of hope in their hearts.

Our fates are not totally out of our hands, yet. I will do whatever I can to protect these lot.

Zweek stopped assessing their situation just long enough to look back at the rest of Niisarm. His brothers, sisters, friends, his family.

They are a mess. The weeks of running and scraping to survive has been hard on them.

Unlike Zweek, who always managed to keep his physical appearance on point - his dark brown hair fashioned into a perfectly cubed high-top with a sharp trimmed fade - the rest looked more like street beggars with their dirty faces, unkempt hair and shabby clothes.

Most wore ragged brown or grey cloaks with shoddy stolen daggers hidden beneath. Not one of them is truly prepared for the coming fight, but here they all were. Despite their recent moments of desperation, more than he thought managed to survive, and way too many joined him here; just to die. At their best and boldest, before everything went to Dolventis, it would have been tough to fight or even escape from the entire Youllon empire.

Although the growing frustrations made it hard to think straight, Zweek hides the mounting pressure well. Standing before the group boldly, his alertness overrides his urge to break down. Yet, he can't stop his mind from trying to decipher the origin of his troubles.

The capture of Novus, the bounty on our heads and slaughter of deserters - everything has forced my hands. But I wanted to come alone.

Zweek turns, and flashes a nervous smile at Xena. She doesn't notice.

I’m a slot-wipe, I should’ve known. This is the problem with loyal nakama.

Marching amongst the remaining members of her squad, Bast; a name taken from the legendary warrior Goddess. Xena sends her elite squad to the back of the troop; pragmatic as usual, even now she takes the role of protector without being asked. Zweek can always count on Xena and Bast to watch Niisarm’s back.

Finally she turned.

As the pair caught eyes for a second, the courtyard went empty. Zweek instantly became lost in her curious, alluring beauty. Xena always held a stern expression, like a shield against the harsh world, but to Zweek she is a budding flower; hiding mesmerising beauty. Her cute button nose, purple-freckled navy blue skin and a pair of bewitching hazel eyes are all overshadowed by thick, frizzy, green shoulder length hair.

Xena did not hold Zweek’s gaze for long, she was too busy making sure the groups formation stayed tight.

I knew she would never let me surrender alone, but now they will… Zweek shook his head violently, attempting to chase negative thoughts away. At least that slithering viperknat Hector stayed away. Changing the track of his thoughts, Zweek released a long sigh, then clenched his fists tight. Up until a few weeks ago everything was still going great. A vision of a stone mansion, decorated with swimming pools and enlivened by parties splashes through Zweek's mind, disrupting his struggle for calm and adding to his annoyance. Right now we were all meant to be diving into a life of luxury, thought Zweek, his regrets crashing against his flimsy mental fence.

In a flash, the history of Niisarm played in Zweek's mind, clearing the current concerns from view.

Originally starting from a small core of orphans and misfits, Niisarm managed to make their name in and around the great Empire of Youllo. Their ascension into nobility was impossible to predict even for the most talented destiny-surfers, but as brilliant as they were, it seems their ambitions were too great.

The tiny crew evolved constantly within a short space of time, braving wild adventures and reaching unparalleled heights. It was an astounding feat for a bunch coming from such small and insignificant origins. Xena, Igo, Novus, Stow, Zweek and Hector, the JoDo. The originals and leaders of Niisarm started out as orphan thieves, but through their noble efforts were able to grow into virtuous bandits. Eventually a few years down the road after more growth - dark deeds and magnificent achievements - they arrived as chivalrous army of mercenaries and genuine heroes of the realm.

That's when Zweek came up with the bright idea of a move into trading. In a world where travelling between countries and continents can easily lead to death he saw the need for greater protection during transportation of goods. An elite group like Niisarm could carve out new routes, through the most dangerous zones, monopolizing faster transportation methods. Secretly, Zweek harboured a dream, to create a guild of merchants with offices in every major nation, city and town.

‘They will send items to every part of the planet.’ is how Zweek convinced the JoDo and the rest Niisarm. Even Prince Villem seemed very interested, but that was then.

The money we would have made - it would have been world changing… enough for our end goal.

During the travels of Niisarm Zweek saw the neutral, lawless and wastelands of the central plains as a problem for traders; his ‘Sourcer’ service would have been the answer. Zweek convinced the Niisarm family that a move into trade would be less work, better paid and come with greater karmic benefits. All of this promise has been capsized, his plans have been sunk before they could even set out over the volatile waves that all ambitions must traverse.

“Maybe it’s my fault”, said Zweek, eyes slipping from left to right.

“Shut it”, said Stow.

“Look, we started as orphans, we had to steal, but... we even killed, and once we made our name we still chased more. For what!? Fame? More money?”. Zweek paused, giving his words time to sink in. “Greed has killed us”.

“Don't start! It’s not time for that”, said Xena, her usual soft tone now harsh and assertive. Deciding to join the vanguard, she has no time for this noise.

“I am just, it - its what went wrong”, Zweek stopped. I have too many regrets, I have to tell her before it's too.

“Too late for that”, said Xena dismissively, pushing Zweek hard in the centre of his back. “The whole reason for getting in with the elites. Our dream, the final destination of building an independent state”.

“True, but like I’m saying, this is karma. Okay, it's not that our dream was too big, but we rushed”, replied Zweek.

“What?”, huffed Stow, wearing a confused face over his perfectly round head.

Stow didn’t like it when Zweek was in charge. He definitely prefers the confident door smashing approach of Novus. Zweek's whining was already getting to him.

“Again, doesn’t matter. We just need to be ready”, said Xena, looking to the castle ahead.

“Yeah”, added Stow. Striding past the slow stepping Zweek.

“Control”, muttered Zweek. I just wanted us to be able to control our own lives.

“Look, just be ready”, snapped Xena, desperately trying to keep their minds sharp. Allowing Zweek’s brain to wonder rarely led to anything good.

In an odd way, Zweek was correct. They will soon learn that control is all their saboteur ever wanted.

As the group arrived at the end of the courtyard, the huge wooden doors of doors of the castle burst open. For a moment there was nothing, except the shadow filled doorway and the stone steps stretching down from the castles front.

The JoDo, the last three remaining leaders of Niisarm stood ahead of the group, several metres from the foot of the stairs, waiting for the enemy to show themselves.

Their vigilance was met with hate as shock filled every member of Niisarm to their core. The corpse of Hector fell from the top of the door frame. Noose around his neck, his naked body swings in the green light night. Devoid of any life, a pale grey hue replaced the warm blue glow life usually radiates; he had been killed sometime ago. His neat afro shaved to patches, the abuse and torture before death was as clear as the horrendous wounds carved throughout his body.

“Pongck!”, gasped Stow.

Zweek’s head dropped and fists clenched harder than before. So hard his neatly cut fingernails pierced his palms, drawing small lines of blood.

Xena turned away, calming the rest of the group. Regardless of his selfishness the majority of Niisarm respected Hector.

Eventually the clanging of metal against stone rang out from inside the castle; the ground shaking footsteps announced the arrival of the Youllon army. Every member of Niisarm, from leader, to footsoldier prepared themselves for anything. With Zweek in charge the response could be totally random. Known for his peculiar battle methods; there have been times when he has ordered a total retreat, only to order an all out counter attack immediately after; just to create a chance or moment of unbalance in the oppositions momentum.

Niisarm squeezed together in a tight circle as a thousand heavily armed soldiers poured forth. Carefully meandering down the awkwardly large steps of Winford, then gushing around the sides of the courtyard to completely block the exit behind. In an instant the courtyard had become a green tinted silver sea, with Niisarm a tiny ragged brown life raft adrift at its center.

The Youllon army wear a silver scale like metallic armour; small tiles of metal soldered together, cascade down the exterior, creating a sleek movable protective suit. The iconic Youlatm the wedge shaped helmets that sit awkwardly on the necks of the soldiers leave a profound impression. For centuries numerous nations have fallen to the wedge headed soldiers. The spotless armour of the Youllon guards shone impressively in the green light of the four moons. During this part of the solar cycle the distant sun of Saitama shines through the night. The sun forcefully colours the satellites, causing each to radiate a unique pastel jade glow; their natural colours tinted by the constant light of the furthest sun.

As an orphan, Zweek only remembers fragments of his life with his mother. The radiance of her smile and