Divinity in Decadence is a dark fantasy novel with a goal of exploring a different kind of world. A world built on evil, with no clear morals or virtues. A world in which even that which is worshiped despises those who worship it. In such a world, it is customary and very natural to lose all hope and succumb to despair. However, one man challenges the world itself and begins a war against it. A war against all that is agreed upon and established. A war to change what is right and wrong. This novel is dedicated to the journey and trials of this single man and those around him. From humble beginnings until the very end, we shall see how he struggles to achieve what he himself conceives to be righteous. What he understands to be the truth. If you wish to personally share your grievances or speak about the book in general or about any related topics, feel free to write a comment, I will answer and appreciate all of them!
I held a fresh, bright red and truly magnificent apple in my hand. Even though I truly admired it, I had to send it down to mortal lands so that those who follow me may feast on this fruit of knowledge. Do not dread, for I always do as I say. But before granting this blessing onto minds trapped by the limitations of flesh, I had to bestow this upon thee:
"Agony of anticipation. Is it greater than the agony of failure? Is the agony of impending death and absolute loss beneath the total victory of your adversaries greater than the gut-wrenching agony of stagnant and blinding unawareness of your own fate? What even is agony? Can this terrible word, which holds domain over so many helpless hearts, even be used so sparingly? Or is usage of it a sign that one does not understand it, perhaps has never even experienced it? A sign of blissful weakness. After all, agony is not just pain, it is an all-consuming state of the human mind. A state in which there is no salvation or hope. No lies or dreams. Only all-consuming pain. True agony can only be experienced once there is no choice of not experiencing it. And once that point is reached, by either almost complete destruction of body or mind. That feeling, that agony, becomes the very worst and, at the same time, the most beautiful sensation one can experience. Such agony cannot be experienced by most people of your age. Only what you conceive to be the purest forms of evil can commit desecration of humanity despicable enough to cause such agony. Whether it's a blessing or a curse, I cannot say. However, I may tell of a world built on such evil and at least a fraction of the agony that it could cause."
Fragile and dry leaves of grass were being trampled by thousands of leather boots in the already vast, dry and poor field. Small hills and a few rare trees were further away from the soldiers, to whom those leather boots belonged. Luckily the trees avoided all consuming destruction for now. However, those slim, barely standing trees couldn't stay safe from the scorching heat of the sun. The same fate fell on the thousands of soldiers standing in battle formation lines as well.
The soldiers were dressed in light, red garbs, all of them wore chain armor and few leg and arm protections made from cheap metals. All those who stood in front lines also had one spear and a sheath with a short sword in it on their belts. These front lines were the most manned portion of the entire field. They were composed of various squads of four soldiers standing in square formation besides nine other squads. And such squares made up three huge front lines with several meters separating them. All these men looked alike and the uniforms certainly didn't help to distinguish them. Their hair was either brown or black and all of them were nasty and greasy. Their white faces were sunburned and many of them were scattered with terrible acne and battle scars. Most of these men had ugly, short beards and the vast majority were very young. The oldest soldiers were thirty while the youngest were barely fifteen. And all of these men, regardless of age, stank horribly, the only thing distracting from the terrible body odor and sweat were literal feces covering the tips of their spears.
Behind these three main lines, there were many covered up wagons and several smaller lines of men only clothed in light garbs. These men wielded two daggers each and had their mouths and heads covered by cloth.
All the soldiers in the front lines and all those behind them, stood prepared, while in front of them all, several dozens of cavalrymen were preparing to lead the charge on top of their black war horses. These cavalrymen all had long spears with ax blades attached at the ends of them. All of the cavalrymen sat bravely on their magnificent war horses, however, only one of them stood out from the monotony of chain armor, light clothing and cavalry helmets.
He had no helmet, wore a cape and also had a short sword instead of a spear. This man was inspecting the formation of the soldiers and even though his old face presented a clear expression of combat experience and positivity, his left eye was twitching periodically, while he bit his own cheeks.
While many soldiers stood still and looked straight forward, some chatted and some even laughed, there was one peculiar man who kept looking around and biting his own lip, his gaze seemed to follow cavalrymen riding on their horses. However, just as soon as he managed to see their faces, he would immediately turn to look at another one, while frowning. As the man inspecting the troops approached this man, he said:
-Is something wrong son?
Before the man could answer, another man from his squad spoke while gazing forward with a thousand yard stare:
-Worry not sir, our squad is ready to serve!
After saying that he faced the man on the horse and saluted him. The man only looked at his eyes for a second, but just after seeing them, he nodded and moved towards other troops.
After the rider was no longer in his sight, the one who spoke stopped saluting and grabbed the shoulder of the worried man. And after a sigh, he said, in deep, calm voice:
-Juste, time for hesitation is behind us. This is no competition or a test. We are on a battlefield now.
After taking just one more peek at a passing cavalryman and frowning once more, he turned his head to his right, towards the shoulder on which the hand of that man rested. He squinted his eyes as the man tightened his grip. Juste quickly calmed down as the realization of his situation settled in and he said:
-I'm sorry Shawn…
Shawn said to him, while still holding on to his shoulder:
-Manup, don't be sorry. You have to be prepared for the charge.
Another man answered in a tired voice:
-With all due respect sir. It's not like he can turn around now. Let him spend these moments as he wishes.
Another man in the squad laughs before Shawn can answer to this man. However, Shawn still speaks calmly after this initial interruption:
-Hesitation invites failure. A soldier can not succumb to it. I hoped you would know that by now Peimo.
Shawn turned to the man who laughed and said with a raised tone:
-What's so funny about this Daos?
After relaxing his face, Daos answered:
-You treat this like a problem. I get it, you are the most experienced among us, but that doesn't mean that you need to lead us by hand all the time. Hell, maybe Juste is eager to fight, why do you even assume that he is unprepared?
Peimo said:
-It's obvious, you are the only one doubting that, but that doesn't mean we should bother him about it. We are low on supplies, this field, no, this whole region is horrendous. There are only a few cities and all of them are held by our enemies. The sun here feels like it hangs right above your head. Our shoes are filled with sand and our skin is fracturing all the time. And now, we will have to fight those beasts in such conditions. Who wouldn't be feeling down honestly?
After grinding his teeth for a moment, Shawn said with a not so subtle hint of irritation in his voice:
-That's enough Peimo. You don't understand what you are talking about.
-No, it isn't. And yes I do! Do YOU even realize how unfortunate we are? We could have been stationed on the border, or be in the siege of Ancarus, or even better we could be part of the immortal army. Anything but this really would be better, far better. We three are scarred by war already, so maybe it doesn't matter how deep in this we are, but for Juste this is his first battle. Would either of you want this hellhole to be a first in anything for you?
Shawn released Justes shoulder, who had already restarted his observation of cavalrymen, without paying much attention to this conversation. After clearing his throat, Shawn said:
-I said that's enough!
Daos laughed again and said:
-His first time fighting sure will be in here, but his first time in bed will be with as many Uruk women as he is willing to take. And you know, I heard those whores have four hands and three tits each.
Juste squinted his eyes and his face got sour, Daos, continued:
-Also, think about it, why are these orcish barbarians attacking us here? They know that we will be filthy rich very soon and they envy that. Stop being so pessimistic about this Peimo. And Juste, worry not, all will be good very soon. The worst part of any battle is waiting.
As he spat on the ground, Peimo said:
-I think dying is worse…
Shawn sighed and said:
-Both of you, focus and shut up. Gather your strength for the battle. We must stay focused and ready.
Daos smirked and said:
-Alright, but the man with the least blood on his blade is buying drinks tonight.
Peimo sighed and said:
-If we live long enough to greet the night.
Shawn looked at Juste again and said:
-You as well Juste.
At this very moment his eyes lit up while his dry lips mustered a smile upon seeing the face of one particular cavalryman. This man wore the same outfit as all the other cavalrymen. There weren't many notable differences setting him apart from others, however the few that were present, were very apparent. Just like Justes, his face was still covered in many zits and acne, as he was still just a bit over nineteen. He also had no beard, only a small sprouting mustache. His eyes were bright and blue, while the few short hairs visible beneath his helmet were blonde. And the biggest detail setting him apart from others wasn't even on him. It was a colorful, fancy, long and bright peacock feather, placed tightly into the reins of his horse. As the man smiled after seeing Juste, he smiled back at him even more, however, this moment was interrupted by Shawn saying:
-Is that clear?
Without much thought, Juste answered:
-Yes. I will stay calm and focused sir.
Shawn patted him on the shoulder and quickly turned forward as the man on the horse, who was expecting troops earlier began speaking, while moving to the center of the field, right in front of the soldiers:
-Honored are you, my brothers in arms! The brave ones! The valiant ones! And the great ones!
Once he stood in the very middle of the line, in front of everyone and captured the complete attention of all the soldiers, he raised his short sword towards the skies. And while looking at his soldiers, he frowned shortly and said:
-There is no wish of harm or deceit in my heart. Especially towards all of you.
He paused, as he turned his head a few times to see as many soldiers as he could directly. Excitement has left their faces and the likelihood of death has occupied their minds. Their muscles spasm and they are short on breath. Their legs shake nervously as sweat runs through their bodies like rivers. Each one of them is experiencing, more or less, the very real, seemingly bone breaking agony of anticipation. There is no certainty of how this will end, or who will live to speak of this event. Only one thing is certain, this detail will be left out from glorious tales and ballads of victory and will most certainly be remembered vividly in tales of woe, memories filled with sorrow, nightmares of despair and the devastating truth of futility.
After seeing desperation in the eyes of his soldiers, the man on the horse said:
-The whole world seems to be against us. We have subjugated so many, yet even more come our way. Even while our comrades are fighting the Uruk warriors, we are forced to face orcish barbarians in the land of Uruk. Do not be mistaken, these orcs are no allies of the Uruk, their only objective is to enrich themselves! They raided Uruk villages,our settlements and even managed to slaughter several of our battalions. However, we, the soldiers of Libertia, the ancestors of heroes, can not allow this march of plunder to go beyond this field! We will slaughter them all and make an example out of them! So that all those wishing to stand against Libertia, all those who believe that they are above us, may know the truth! All of the blood you shall lose today will wash you of your sins and honor the glory of your ancestry. And all the blood of orcish barbarians that shall be shed, will ensure the glory of our state and conquest!
The man turned away from the soldiers towards the front, extending his blade forward, and then said after a short moment of silence:
-Immortal army is behind us! Golden cities are behind us! Libertia is behind us! For mankind! For Libertia! For Cez-!
A rock with a blade embedded at its tip, carved through the feeble skin of the man, going right through his eye, ripping part of it out. Just before he could finish that word. Immense amounts of blood began pouring out from his eye, as if it was a waterfall. He grabbed onto it immediately, and as he did so, he fell backwards, startling his own horse. As the man dangled on the ground, the horse began galloping towards the enemy.
Whole lines of almost sickly green skinned male orcs. These warriors wore light fur and some thick metal armor pieces in a few areas around their bodies. They towered over human men, as if they were sitting on horseback, their muscles were far more profound and their green skin didn't seem to be negatively affected by the scorching heat of the sun. The ones in the front lines carried axes with especially long blades, while the ones in the back had cloth bags filled with projectiles like the one that got this man injured. Their line distribution matched the lines of humans, however, they were far more chaotic. There wasn't any one clear leading figure either. However, with a glorious roar, the orc warriors charged forward, just as the horse began galloping towards them.
The man, while still holding onto his bleeding eye, quickly swooped his sword around several times, until it cut the horse. As the horse began bleeding and grinding its teeth quickly, the man strook once more, cutting through a major artery on a leg. This finally made the horse fall to the ground. After that, the man quickly cut the stirrup leather, keeping him trapped. And as he stood on top of the dying horse, he extended his sword towards the approaching enemy and screamed:
-Charge!
After this word, cavalry moved forward and the front line followed them. The man quickly retreated behind the marching squads of the first line. He ran past Juste, holding tightly onto his bleeding eye and just barely holding onto his sword. The man was shaking and seemingly could barely run in a straight line, however, he managed to get past Juste and others, while the men of the front line approached the rapidly advancing enemy.
The cavalry swept through the battlefield as if they were flying through it. They were cutting down orcs left and right, blood splashing from the napes and necks of the greenish adversaries. Like ripe wheat on the day of reaping, countless orcs fell to the blades and spears of these riders. A truly inspiring sight.
Daos, many others and Juste as well, smiled at such a sight. The first blood may have been from the body of a human, but it certainly can't be the last blood spilled today. The entire squad and all other squads prepared their spears as they began running straight at the enemy. Some men were being taken out with the projectiles already, however, they were a minority and everyone kept the charge going.
Just as the four spears of the squad approached the massive orc in front of them, they immediately sank deep into his flesh. Two in the chest and two in the guts. The spears sank deep and the blood spilled downwards on the soldiers, who were smiling maniacally in their moment of triumph, as adrenaline and hate rushed through their bodies. Feces on the tips of the spear mixed with blood, some of it even pouring through the wound, however, the vast majority of it stays inside, scorching and rotting the newly opened wound. Same occurrence repeats all throughout the field, as the first wave almost completely impales all of the initial attackers.
Juste stabbed guts at the left side of this orc. It was his first time harming anything in such a way. It was sickening, but at the same time mesmerizing, Juste turned the spare while it was already inside, causing the orc to spasm and scream. As all four of them stabilized their spears into the ground, forcing the orc to kneel on its knees and act as a meat shield, all of them took out their short swords.
But the orc, overtaken by a sudden rush of adrenaline, concentrated his strength, ignoring the pain as much as possible. He swung once with his ax, before Shawn cut into his right arm, while Juste cut into his left, immobilizing the orc completely. As the bloody ax dropped, the orc began panting, as his wounds were bleeding profusely. As Juste breathed a sigh of relief, he turned around, to face his comrades. Daos was clutching his guts tightly, as blood was pouring through between his fingers. He didn't even have time to pull out his sword. Even though the man stood before his brothers in arms, he was doing so very barely. He was gasping for air, and his eyes were looking upwards. Peimo said:
-No…
Shawn and Juste simply looked at him, until he fell to the ground. Peimo lowered his head and after shaking momentarily, stabbed the orc several times while screaming:
-How dare you?! How dare you?! How dare you ?!Bastard!
Peimo fell to his knees before the orc, as he quietly said with his head lowered:
-You weren't supposed to die…I, I can't…
Shawn grabbed him with a free hand as he said, while his eyes twitched:
-Get yourself together. Now! I don't want any more of us dying.
As they continued to speak, Juste squatted beside the head of Daos and said:
-Can I do anything for you? Before you die...
Daos responded:
-…Sword…
Juste carefully pulled out his sword and placed it in the free hand of Daos. He gripped onto it and nodded, as his gaze turned towards the sky. While his other hand held onto a futile chance at survival, in the form of his guts spilling out from his body, with a river of blood running out alongside it. He wasn't sad, nor did he smile. His gaze was cold and he was barely even blinking. At this state he resembled a pig more than a man. Dirty, bloody and expressionless. And the vengeful orc, same one in front of him. By using little remaining strength he had, the orc gathered saliva in his mouth and upon opening it, he spat it out, together with some blood. It landed straight on the chest and neck of the dying man.
Juste turned to others with his sword in hand. Peimo and Shawn were prepared to run forward. Just as Peimo peaked his head to observe the situation behind their living shield, a stone with a blade at the tip of it landed straight at his forehead. The knockback sent him backwards and as he landed on his back, both Juste and Shawn could see his fate.
This man looked far more like a fish now, than a man. He gasped for air while widely opening his jaw. Clearly he was unable to talk, or control his movements even. Anything he tried saying came out as an inaudible and silent dribble, accompanied by saliva flowing from his mouth. His muscles were spasming wildly, as his entire body was moving uncontrollably. As all of this happened, his head kept turning, not knowing any peace even in the final moments of his life. The blood was flowing from his forehead and he kept gasping for air more and more, most likely purely from instinct.
Juste looked at the man with a sour face. Such a terrible end, for nothing. Fear settled in his heart. But the voice of Shawn brought him back to awareness:
-We must go, second wave is already moving, they will need this as protection.
Juste turned behind, just to see the second line of soldiers marching toward them, just like they did before, while all the soldiers of the first front were going past the orc bodies and attacking the upcoming ones with their swords. He looked at Shawn and said:
-We can't leave them suffering like this.
Shawn, with his head lowered, answered:
-We have to.
Juste lowered his head and nodded. Both of them ran from behind their meat shield into the active battlefield.
Orcs were almost effortlessly slaughtering humans, as their axes were sliding through human flesh as if it was butter. While human soldiers relied on group tactics to take orcs down. All the squads, or what was left of them, attacked one orc at a time. This was far harder for diminished squads or lone soldiers however. The stone projectiles were still flying through the field and even though most of them landed into the backs of meat shield orcs, some did penetrate fragile human bodies as well. Screams, shouts and roars emanated through the field. Blood ran through steel into the sandy ground, as bodies of humans and orcs fell all around the field.
Juste and Shawn both dropped to the ground in front of the first orc they encountered, sweeping past him and cutting both of his legs. After sending the orc falling down, they simply stood up and continued running forward. As they approached another orc, they repeated the same strategy. But as Juste swept past the orc and stood up, he didn't see Shawn.
As Juste turned behind, he saw Shawn under the arm of an orc on the ground. He was gasping for air desperately, while trying to speak. However, his attempts were futile, as he released one long gasp, as if he was a snake being crushed under a rock. Both of their eyes met just for a moment. Tears were running from Shawn's eyes and they were shining, as if they were signal fires, while his hand struggled to raise towards Juste with an open palm. However, Juste ran forward, towards other orcs.
As he ran, he saw two other lone men not too far away from him. At first he approached the one on his left, because he was closer, However, very soon. His neck was sliced by an orc wielding an ax. He wasn't decapitated because two men attacked the orc from behind before he could do so, regardless, the man was dead. Juste quickly changed directions and ran towards the other man.
However, this was a race. An enraged orc ran towards this same man. The man was covered in blood, clearly this battle hasn't been kind to him. However, Juste ran with all energy he had towards the orc before he could attack the man, desperately trying to save him. Juste jumped on a lying body of a dead orc and jumped from him, towards the attacker. His blade ran through the shoulder armor and upper arm of the orc. This attack broke the sword, but also forced the orc to drop his ax. The man covered in blood, with a thousand yard stare, managed to lunge forward and cut into the guts of the orc. Juste looked on with despair, however, as the orc fell, the man emerged safe. Their faces were both tensed up and stretched, covered in blood, their nostrils were filled with the aroma of death, however, in this moment, both men managed to look at each other and smile. Words were not needed.
The smile was whipped off the face of Juste just as quickly as a rock projectile flew into the chest of the man, he fell to the ground just as fast, with a smile frozen on his face. Meanwhile Juste stared at this, while his eyes twitched and his face got locked in an expression of cold, total despair. He did turn his head however, once four men charged an orc with their spears. The second line has moved in.
Juste ran after them and as they imapled the orc, Juste threw his broken blade at the orc's arm just as he was about to try and swing his ax at them. Orc growled from pain, just at the same moment as Juste stopped to look at his left leg. As he was throwing the broken blade, one of the orcs threw a rock projectile and it managed to fly past his left leg. He was bleeding from his upper thigh and soon enough, he succumbed to pain and fell to the ground.
The soldiers only noticed the orc growling and after pulling out their swords, they cut into his arms and ran further, while Juste slowly dragged himself towards the orc and barely managed to sit down in the shadow and protection of this meatshield. He removed his chain armor and tore out a piece of his uniform to use as a bandage. After struggling, but eventually succeeding to do so, he began breathing deeply, while hearing projectiles impacting the back of the orc. The orc warrior was shaking and whimpering as he bled out. Juste simply sat and observed the battlefield in front of him, trying his best to ignore the throbbing and bleeding wound. Instead of focusing on that, he was getting lost in all the carnage that this battle had already created, while hearing what was happening behind him and understanding how much more carnage there will be.
Two long lines of orcs stabbed with four spears being used as meat shields and a gap of field between these two lines is littered with human and orcish corpses alike. Axes and blades litter the ground, some still alive humans and orcs are crying out for mercy, help, or death. While few humans who are still capable of moving in this portion of the field, are relentlessly stabbing, cutting or desecrating bodies of orcs in other ways. Judging from the sound behind him, there is no sign of this seizing. Same roars, shoats and cries are heard, same sound of the battle between human and orcish, as their blades clashed and of course, blood and guts spattering on the ground. The third and last line also began moving forward. The men moved quickly, trampling any resemblance of nature miraculously untouched by the battle. Nature was not the only one being trampled however. The men marched through corpses as if they were rocks on a road, some didn't even bother to look down as they did so. Blood puddles, already formed by the fighting, were disturbed by splashes made by soldiers stepping in and out of them in lines. A burning passion and pure excitement were present in all of their eyes. It was burning brighter than the scorching sun above the field, for their agony of anticipation had finally ceased . Soon, once the second line faces the same fate as Juste and his comrades did, the third line will replace them. Judging from the fast paced and indifferent march of the third line, this will happen very soon.
Juste chose to divert his gaze to the details of the battlefield. He chuckled forcefully and smiled as if someone were pulling his lips upward by force. The great cavalry that led the charge is no more, the horse corpses are only visible very close by the first line of meat shields, Only very few actually went deeper into the battlefield. Juste looked at them and their pitiful riders, also laying dead beside, or beneath them. His eyes are cold and his mouth is open. He moves his head slowly and looks in the same direction a few times, however he snaps out from this trance, once his eye is caught by a colorful, fancy, long and bright peacock feather, cored in blood, as it moves through the battlefield, caught by playful, warm wind. Juste stares forward without blinking, until the third line, with their proudly raised spears covered in feces, finally march past him, so they could finally meet true agony. And the bloody feather flew past him, never to be seen again.
Juste gasps for air several times, as he listens to footsteps behind him disappear slowly. He clenches his fists and breaks down in tears, weeping, as snot and tears run down his chin and cheeks. He begins to scream and shake, while violently pushing his now spread out fingers into the land, trying to grasp it. His mind drowned in a sea of sorrow.
After several moments, or perhaps hours that felt like an eternity, Juste was brought back to horrible reality by a constant pushing of his shoulder by someone and a pungent, irritating odor. This horrific odor was most similar to the stench of rotten eggs. He focused his eyes and looked forward.
The previously covered up wagons were not burning, as yellowish smoke descended upon the battlefield from their direction. This smoke was accompanied by a chaotic wave of young men, mostly teenagers, with two daggers each and dirty white cloth covering their mouths, running frantically. These men ran with such vigor and excitement, one could assume that they were starving men and there was food on the other side of the field. Reality was frighteningly similar to this assumption. The eyes of these men were wide open, pupils dilated and arteries throbbing on their eyes, as if they were about to burst at any moment. They ran with no awareness of their surroundings, jumping over anything in their way. So determined and eager to kill or be killed. These men felt no agony, perhaps this was joyful to them, or maybe, they felt so much joy that they couldn't feel anything at all anymore. They passed Juste and the man beside him pushing his shoulder as quickly as they approached, without paying any attention to them. More like wolves on a hunt than men in a war.
Juste slowly turned his head towards the source of pushing. Once face to face with the same man on the horse previously, the one with whom he exchanged warm smiles, Juste stared coldly. The man had no weapon, helmet or armor, just like Juste, his face was dirty and there was a big bruise on the left side of it. Juste gently touched his face and turned it a few times with his dirty hand, the man placed his hand on Juste's shoulder and nodded. Both of them began tearing up and shaking. After some hesitation and staring, Juste said:
-Danse…Danse its you?
He smiled and both of them embraced each other in a hug beneath the still barely living orc meatshield. Both of them, dirty and bloody. They cried tears of joy. A rare, but truly beautiful sight in such a place as this.