MANIAKES
(The Tyrant Born of Fire and Shadows)
Recap of Chapters 6–8
Maniakes grew under Deymar's harsh training, guided in secret by whispers from the shadows. At sixteen he swore a blood oath to destroy the ones who had cast him away. Soon after, he slew the monstrous wolf that terrorized Olusuis, proving himself a warrior beyond mortals. The people feared him—but they could no longer deny his power.
Chapter 9 – The Festival of Blades
The Festival came once more, brighter and bloodier than before. This was no simple sparring of youths—this was the rite of men, where warriors proved themselves before the gods.
Maniakes entered the circle with spear and shield, the crowd half-cheering, half-whispering prayers against him. Many still called him cursed; many feared the strange fire that sometimes flickered in his eyes.
One after another, the strongest of Olusuis came against him. One after another, they fell. Some limped away broken, some carried off unconscious, and some never rose again.
By the final match, Maniakes stood bloodied but unbowed, his chest heaving, his spear trembling with hunger. His opponent was Varcon, the champion of Olusuis, a man twice his size, hardened by war.
Their battle shook the earth. Shields splintered, spears shattered, fists struck like thunder. The crowd screamed as Varcon raised his axe for the killing blow—
But Maniakes caught it with his bare hands.
The steel sank into his flesh, blood gushed—but his grip did not falter. With a roar that froze the crowd, he wrenched the axe from Varcon's grasp and drove it into the man's chest.
Varcon fell. Maniakes stood.
The arena went silent.
And in the silence, Maniakes heard the whisper again.
"They bow to you. As all will."
Chapter 10 – The Whispering God
That night Maniakes could not sleep. He walked the edge of the river, the moon silver on his skin, his wound still raw.
And there—rising from the mist—stood a figure. Cloaked in shifting shadow, its face hidden, its voice the same that had haunted Maniakes' dreams since boyhood.
"I am the one who shaped you," it said. "The power in your blood is mine. The strength in your bones is mine. You are chosen, Maniakes."
The youth trembled but did not kneel. "Chosen for what?"
"To rise. To conquer. To make men and gods tremble."
The figure stretched out a hand, black as smoke. "Take my gift fully, and no blade shall harm you, no wall shall withstand you. You will be as storm and fire, and your enemies will drown in their own blood."
Maniakes' breath quickened. Deep in his heart, rage stirred—the rage of abandonment, of betrayal, of nameless faces who had cast him away.
"Show me their names," he whispered, "and I will kill them all."
The shadow laughed softly, a sound like rusted chains. "In time, child of fire. In time."
And as the mist swallowed the figure, Maniakes felt the power in his veins throb, heavier, darker.
Chapter 11 – The War Drums Beat
Peace never lasted in Olusuis. The warriors of Zuvendis—his blood, though he did not know it—were stirring once more.
At dawn, scouts brought word: a war party from Zuvendis was crossing the border. Their banners black as night, their armor gleaming, their blades thirsting for conquest.
The council of Olusuis gathered. Fear shivered through the elders, for Zuvendis was mighty, their armies vast.
But Maniakes rose.
"Send me," he said, voice low but sharp. "I will fight them."
Laughter broke from the elders. "A boy? Against the armies of kings?"
But the warriors who had seen him fight—the men who had watched him break Varcon with his bare hands—did not laugh. They looked at him with something else in their eyes: awe, and fear.
Deymar stepped forward.
"My son is no ordinary boy. He carries strength none of us can measure. If he goes, Olusuis stands a chance."
The hall fell silent. The council exchanged glances, their pride struggling against their dread.
At last, the eldest spoke:
"So be it. Maniakes, you will face the warriors of Zuvendis. May the gods—whichever gods they are—decide your fate."
And that night, as the war drums of Zuvendis echoed across the border, Maniakes sharpened his spear in silence, his eyes burning with a fire not born of men.
Chapter 12 – The Clash of Villages
The battlefield lay at the river—the same river that had once carried him as a crying babe.
The banners of Olusuis faced the banners of Zuvendis, drums pounding, horns bellowing. Maniakes stood at the front, taller than the rest, his spear glowing faintly in the morning light as though the gods themselves had blessed it—or cursed it.
The first charge came like thunder. Steel rang, men screamed, blood spattered the earth. Maniakes moved like no mortal, his spear a storm, his roar splitting the sky. Wherever he struck, men fell broken.
But as he cut through the enemy, his eyes met those of a Zuvendis warrior—an older man with the same sharp jaw, the same burning gaze. For a heartbeat, something stirred in Maniakes' blood, a memory he could not name.
The warrior faltered, staring at him as though he had seen a ghost.
"Impossible…" the man whispered. "The prince is dead…"
Maniakes speared him through the chest.
The man fell, choking on blood, but his final words haunted Maniakes' ears:
"You… are… Zuvendis…"
The battlefield raged on, but Maniakes stood frozen, the words echoing in his skull.
Zuvendis.
The name that would soon unlock his destiny—and vengeance.