Book 2 – Chapter 5: Dreadbeast

The dark gray skin of the dreadbeast contrasted with the vibrantly painted buildings on either side of the street. It had black horns on either side of its head that curled into outward-facing points. It was nine feet tall and had no covering over its body except a ragged black loincloth. Its arms were the size of a fully grown man, and with every step its foot sank into the dirt road. It was a perfect example of why humanity had struggled so much in the war against them. 

It would take a dozen human men to bring a dreadbeast of this size down without magic. 

But though the memories of the past flooded Sen’s mind at the sight, something more pressing kept him grounded in the present. 

An old man walked beside the dreadbeast. The man wore fine clothes, as you might expect of a wealthy trader or noble. A tan vest over a white button-up shirt and a striking blue blazer. His head was a battlefield, gray hair fighting with all its might to stave off balding. There was a permanent scowl etched into his face in the form of wrinkles. An eternal blue chain wrapped around the man’s waist and extended outward. A chain connected to the neck of the dreadbeast beside him. 

A tether spell. Tether spells were invisible to non-magicians. They were often used to turn mana-beasts, monsters, and mindless spirits into pets or companions. It was not a spell meant to be used on intelligent life. Because in its darkest form, a tether spell could be used to enslave a living being. 

Sen gritted his teeth. “Mori.” That name was the only word he could get out. 

Mori bowed and cast a spell. 

Sen and his two replica siblings disappeared into mist. 

Drussan

It didn’t take him long to notice something was off. Dreadbeast rarely, if ever, trained in magic, but Drussan’s senses were keen, and he sensed a disruption in reality. Magic at work. He stopped walking, scanning the road ahead, and then turned to glance over his shoulder. 

The tether spell chain around his neck pulled taunt. It caught Malachi off guard, and the man turned to look back. “What the hell are you doing? We’re late as it is!” 

Drussan ignored him. “Something’s wrong.”

Malachi hesitated at that. Disobedience was one thing. Caution was another. The old slaver had come to trust Drussan’s senses over the years. He swallowed. “Are we in danger? What is it?” Malachi demanded. 

“Don’t know.” He ignored the elevation of Malachi’s heartbeat, the activation of his sweat glands. The old man had the nerves of a coward. But coward or not, this man had to survive at all costs. For the sake of Drussan’s mission, Malachi could not die here. 

“Get behind me,” Drussan barked. 

Mana rushed past him like a violent wind, and his eyes widened. If the owner of this mana wanted them dead, it was probably over. At best, he might be able to buy Malachi time to escape. One of the others could finish Drussan’s work here. But a pawn like Malachi was irreplaceable. 

His senses screamed. 

Danger above. 

Drussan’s head snapped up.

Three humans with long white hair stood on the rooftop above them. Two of them were dressed like students. One was an older version of the others. Another was a woman. Drussan had no interest in human women. Not in that way. But there was a beauty about her. Like a painting brought to life, or a song given form. He might’ve admired her a moment longer if not for the man in their center. He wore a robe that was so white it was like staring into a gateway to heaven. It had golden mana channels, deep ones, that ran all along it. He radiated hatred and mana in equal measure. Both plentiful. His power was obvious. 

Drussan fell to his knees before his mind could even process, as if the act was one of instinct. 

His heart stirred, a mixture of fear and admiration in equal measure. As he realized who it was he stared upon, he lowered his head and bowed. That mana, those features, he recognized them from a cherished memory that only a few of his people had ever been fortunate enough to see. There was no mistaking it. Though Drussan’s homeland was gone, and perhaps even the one who had shown him the memory, he would never forget the depiction of the mage who defeated Garlon. The only human the Dreadgiant King Garlon ever acknowledged as an equal. 

This man was the God of Magic. 

Malachi scoffed. “What are you doing? Get up! Defend me at once!” Malachi took a step to strike Drussan. 

Before Drussan could react, the wind itself tore apart to make way for a pulse of mana. Blood splattered the street. Drussan looked over just in time to see Malachi’s body fall and land on the bloody stumps that were once his legs. 

The slaver’s face was one of utter shock, right until the very moment it planted into the street. 

The God of Magic looked down on the slaver with contempt. 

Drussan held out a hand. “This one recognizes you, God of Magic. I ask you, humbly, please spare this human. I have need of him. My people have need of him.” 

The God of Magic frowned at that. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” he asked. 

Drussan nodded. “I know somewhere nearby. But please…help him.” He looked at Malachi’s wounds. At this rate, he would bleed out, and everything would crumble.

Above him, the God of Magic sighed and turned to the slightly older-looking man next to him. “Mori. See that the trash doesn’t bleed out. I’ll summon the others.” 

He reached a hand to the sky and fired off a flare of purple fire. 

Sen

The dreadbeast, Drussan, had led them to what appeared to be a closed-down shop. The windows were boarded so tightly that not a single ray from the setting sun could find its way through. A mana-light chandelier hung from the ceiling, and Mori found a few mana lanterns lying around as well, which he promptly put to use. The others had quickly reconvened at Sen’s signal. Now, they were gathered here. 

Drussan and Malachi sat alone at one end of the room. Drussan had found a crate sturdy enough to bear his weight. Malachi sat close to him in a simple wooden chair that creaked every time he shifted. He did so a lot, partially from nerves, and partially to test his legs where they’d been reattached. Though Sen was still deciding if the old man would get to keep them that way. The slaver rested his feet on a bar around the base of the chair instead of on the ground, as if the dust might hurt him.

Sen leaned against the wall across from them. Ilm sat nearby with her hands wrapped around her knees atop a tall crate. Milim sat next to her, dangling her legs off. Samara stood guard at the door. Dirke sat atop a glass display counter, kicking his feet like a child. Fawna was out of sight, exploring the back. She couldn’t stand the sight of Malachi, and her first instinct had been to execute the slaver. Sen was in agreement, but he would hear out the dreadbeast first. 

Mori had taken it upon himself to tidy up the place with spells. Cobwebs faded from reality under his direction, and he’d created a broom from his mana. He swept toward the door, and even dust far beyond the range of his broom rolled forward, as if moved by an invisible hand. Each sweep gathered far more dust than was reasonable. Given a few more moments, Mori would likely have the shop looking good as new. 

“Many have seen my cloak, my hair, my eyes. I’ve fought and revealed my mana, and I’ve come face to face with gods from this time. Even they didn’t recognize me. It’s a fallacy for someone to assume the God of Magic walks among them. So how did you recognize me? How did you know who I am?” Sen asked. 

Drussan lifted his head with pride. “I am a Khan of the dreadbeast.”

Sen lifted a brow. That only left him with more questions. “How could a pathetic man like this capture someone of your status and force you into slavery?” 

“He could not. I am here willingly,” Drussan answered.

Malachi looked as if Drussan had said something preposterous. 

“Sorry, what’s a Khan?” Milim asked.

Samara shrugged. “I was wondering too.” 

Mori took a break from cleaning and looked up. “Magic isn’t common among dreadbeast. They’re known for their physical abilities and prioritize the other stats. Strength, Constitution, and in fewer cases, speed. And trust me, they don’t need magic to keep up. The System still assigns them mage-ranks, but they prefer their own titles. A Khan is the equivalent of a high-noble or Lord-class mage,” he explained. 

“I’ve crossed paths with and fought many Khans in the war. Which is why this situation is so hard to fathom,” Sen said. “Not to mention, your rank doesn’t explain how you know who I am, unless you’re from my time.”

Drussan smiled faintly at that. “We do not live quite that long, honored one. Though I am a Khan, I did not lead a warpack. I was one of a select few tasked with protecting the last living descendant of Garlon. It was he who showed me the memory that had been passed down over generations. That was how I recognized you, honored one.”

Sen froze. “Garlon’s bloodline persists?” He shook his head. “Wait, why are you here now then? A Khan guard holds that position for life. You said you’re here willingly, living in chains under a slave owner. Does that mean…was Garlon’s descendant killed?” 

Drussan frowned. “I do not know. Our homeland was destroyed over two hundred years ago. Our people split into tribes and attempted to create refuges wherever we could. I was born in one of these tribes, and once I became Khan, I learned that Garlon’s descendant was among us and was assigned to protect him. But the humans were not satisfied with simply destroying our homeland. They continued to hunt us. When our tribe fell, the other Khan guards and I escaped with Garlon’s descendant. Our ship was attacked, and we were lost at sea. When I woke up, I had washed ashore, and there was no sign of the others. I searched for him for many years. The connection a Khan guard has with his ward is powerful. That thread has not snapped, but it is faint. Wherever he is now, it is beyond my reach. Still, I searched until I met Garvhadda, and he gave me a new purpose.”

Dirke jumped off the glass counter. “Wait, you’ve met him? He’s actually real?” he asked. 

Sen looked over at the cultist. “You’ve heard of him?” 

“I have…but I thought it was a myth of something. When rumors reached us, we investigated but found nothing credible. I can’t believe it.” Dirke stroked his chin. “Is what they say true?” 

Drussan looked around the room. “Yes. He’s a dreadgiant.” 

Sen’s mouth fell open. Fawna suddenly burst into the room. Milim and Ilm jumped off the crate they were standing on. Mori lost control of his mana and swept a bit too hard, sending all the scattered dust he’d collected flying straight toward Samara. 

It absolutely covered her. Samara coughed. “Mori! What the—” She made a disgusted face. “My mouth was open!” 

“My apologies!” Mori bowed. He turned to Drussan. “Excuse me, did you just say there’s a new dreadgiant?” he asked.

“Like…dread giant as in what Garlon was?” Milim asked. “Like what we saw in history class?”

Sen nodded. Garlon was a dreadbeast, as were his people. But among the dreadbeast is a one in a million power that allows a dreadbeast to physically grow with each point invested into the strength stat. It was how Garlon reached the size of mountains and threatened the world. According to Drussan, a new dreadgiant had been born. The implications of that were staggering. 

[Literally. I mean, we both remember the earthquakes from back then, right?]

Sen ignored Tutor. 

“For System’s sake. Are we going to have to fight one of those?” Samara asked.

“No, Garvhadda isn’t like that. He wants only to free our people. That’s all!” Drussan insisted. “We have a plan, a plan that will require minimal bloodshed. That’s why I need Malachi alive.” 

Mori frowned. “It sounds nice, but fighting for freedom is often incompatible with minimal bloodshed. As soon as a few dreadbeasts free themselves, the boots of oppression will fall on the necks of others.” 

“That’s exactly why we intend to free all our people at once. We’ll strike across every major town and encampment where dreadbeast slaves exist. We’ll free ourselves in a single night and form a new nation where we can live in peace. That is Garvhadda’s dream,” Drussan said, pride clear in his voice.

Malachi stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve…you’ve helped me capture your own people. We executed the warriors to prevent uprisings. This can’t be true, none of it makes sense!”

Drussan’s face hardened. “Dreadbeasts show no signs of sickness or aging. At least, none visible to most human eyes. Those with little time left to live volunteered to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Those ‘warriors’ we fought and executed were those with little life left within. They made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the freedom of our people.” Drussan turned to stare at Malachi. “In your greed, you could never imagine that kind of selflessness. It’s that very fact that allowed us to hide elite warriors within your fields, businesses, and homes.” 

The blood drained from Malachi’s face. He shook his head and stared at the ground. “What…”

“Like soldiers in an era of peace, or guards who have never faced thieves. The slavers have become complacent. Comfort is the enemy of security,” Sen mused. “You infiltrated and played the role of obedient slaves to ensure they won’t be ready when you strike.” It was genius, really. 

“Five years. We’ve worked toward our goal for five years, and soon the time will come. The freedom of every dreadbeast slave. If all goes according to plan, only the slavers and their allies need die.” 

“What about my son?” Malachi whispered. “What about Micah?”

Drussan didn’t meet Malachi’s eyes. “That will depend on you, Malachi. You’ll do what I say from now on. Because if you don’t, if you try to warn your friends, I promise you nothing will stop me from ending your bloodline.” 

“But he’s just a—”

“Micah is an adult, Malachi. If he wished to walk another path, he would’ve.” 

Sen nodded. “So, you’ll make your move soon then?” Sen asked. 

Drussan frowned. “We have no choice. Garvhadda has been pursuing a great power he believes will allow us to establish a new homeland. A power that will cement the safety of those we gather. Only he knows what it is, but he says it will offer the leverage we need. Leverage that will force the kingdoms of the Isle of Magic to negotiate with us rather than declare war. While we’ve worked to secure safe routes and plan our escape, Garvhadda has relentlessly pursued this power. But something changed recently. He sent word that our plan must take place in three days. In just three days, he will send the signal to start the fight for our freedom. That’s when the real struggle begins. Unearthing this power will reveal it to our enemies and others who might seek it. He’ll have limited time to secure it then. Our fight is a race against time.”

Mori lifted a brow. “Wait, it’s not possible to secure the power beforehand? Isn’t this plan of yours risky?”

“I don’t know the specifics. I only know that once he begins the search, it will attract other powerful people. That’s why the timing is so tight. If our enemies learn a dreadbeast has attained power on the level Garvhadda claims, they may suspect he’ll use it to free his people. Then we lose the element of surprise.”

“We thought we’d have more time. But something serious must have happened if Garvhadda is proceeding with the plan early. He would never do so without good reason. From the start he’s insisted that we save every single dreadbeast. But I’ve only just arrived here. It takes weeks to get everything prepared. My human allies haven’t arrived. Without them, I can’t bribe guards, and it’s difficult to travel through cities on my own. Not to mention the others who do work similar to my own. Malachi is extremely wealthy and influential. That gives me more freedom than most. It takes the others months to do what I do in weeks. We don’t have enough time for either.” 

That was quite the predicament. 

“But wouldn’t that mean some of you would get left behind?” Milim asked. “If you can’t finish your preparations?” 

Drussan was silent.

Sen walked into the center of the room. “No. It doesn’t. You’ve done great work, Drussan. I’ve heard your story, and I remember the treaty that was signed between our peoples after the war.”

He also remembered the promise he’d made to Garlon, in the dreadgiant king’s final moments.

“In three days, you and all your allies will be ready. I give my word, because from this moment forward, the God of Magic is on your side. Let’s free your people.” 

His past with the dreadbeasts was a complicated one, but this situation was not. In a fight between slavers and the enslaved, the God of Magic would always side with the latter.