Inside his hut, Orkus woke with a start.
His body sat up abruptly, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide as saucers in the darkness. The voices still echoed in his head, whispers that tangled together like snakes.
"Conquer…"
"You are the chosen one…"
"The moon gods have marked you…"
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart, which threatened to leap out of his chest. He did not know where those voices came from, nor why they resounded in his dreams night after night. But there was one thing he was sure of: ever since he woke up in that clearing next to the gorilla's corpse, his body had become stronger. Faster. Tougher.
Something inside him had changed.
—I am the chosen one —he whispered in the dim light, testing the words on his tongue—. I am the chosen one.
He stood up from the mat where he slept, erect, and his black wings spread behind him like a living shadow. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the hut, bathing his silhouette in a silver glow.
A hand tugged at his arm.
—Orkus —a sleepy female voice murmured—. Come back to bed. It's late.
It was his wife, half-sitting on the mat, her face confused among the shadows. Her wings, a less intense black than his, were folded haphazardly.
Orkus looked at her for a moment. Then, with a sudden movement, he freed himself from her grip.
—You sleep —he said, his voice deeper than usual—. I have something to do.
—What? At this hour? —She sat up completely, alarmed—. Orkus, what's wrong with you? Ever since you came back from that hunt, you've been…
—I am the chosen one of the moon gods! —he interrupted her, his eyes shining with a strange glow—. They speak to me. They guide me. And I must guide our people.
Without waiting for an answer, he left the hut.
The woman stood staring at the entrance, paralyzed. Then, with trembling hands, she began to dress.
---
The village square was an irregular patch of trampled earth, surrounded by wooden huts. In the center, a dying bonfire burned weakly, its flames dancing in the night wind.
Orkus planted himself in the middle and raised his arms.
—WAKE UP! —he bellowed, his voice echoing among the buildings—. EVERYONE WAKE UP!
One by one, the doors of the huts began to open. Men, women, and children showed their faces, first confused, then annoyed. Some warriors came out already with weapons in hand, thinking it was an attack.
—What madness is this, Orkus? —one growled from his doorway.
—Listen to me! —Orkus spread his black wings, imposing under the moon—. The moon gods have spoken to me! They have chosen me to lead our people toward a better future! Follow me, and we will conquer!
—Chosen? —mocked a young warrior—. The gods chose you? You can barely handle a gorilla!
—Leave him, he's drunk —said another.
—He's not drunk —murmured a woman—. He's crazy. Look at his eyes.
The crowd began to murmur, with laughs and scornful comments. No one took Orkus seriously. He was just another warrior, with no special relevance. Chosen by the gods? Ridiculous.
A figure emerged from the shadows, making his way through the onlookers. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, his arms covered in scars. In his right hand, an iron spear gleamed in the firelight. His black wings, larger than anyone else's, spread slowly.
—So you're back, eh, Orkus?
The crowd fell silent.
The man stopped in front of Orkus, a mocking smile on his lips.
—What's the matter? —he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm—. Did you hit your head on that gorilla and now you're delirious?
Orkus recognized him instantly. It was Gromm, the younger brother of the current leader of this branch of the Dark Feather clan. A feared and respected warrior, second-in-command after his brother. His scars spoke of countless battles, and his spear had reaped more lives than Orkus could count.
—I am not delirious —Orkus replied, holding his posture—. I have received a vision. The moon gods have marked me.
Gromm let out a laugh.
—The moon gods? —He turned to the crowd, seeking complicity—. Do you hear this? Our dear Orkus thinks he's chosen by the gods! —His expression changed, becoming dangerous—. If you're so special, prove it. Fight me.
The murmur of the crowd intensified. A duel. Now that was entertaining.
Orkus hesitated for a moment. Gromm was an experienced warrior, far superior to him. But the voices in his head whispered again:
"Trust your strength. You are more than you think."
—I accept —Orkus said.
The crowd roared.
---
The square emptied in seconds, forming a circle around the two fighters. Torches and the bonfire illuminated the scene with an orange, dancing light.
Gromm smiled smugly, twirling his spear with one hand.
—I'm not going to kill you, Orkus. I'll just teach you a lesson. And when you're done licking the ground, you'll kneel before me and admit you're a hopeless madman.
Orkus did not answer. He drew his two axes from the straps crossed over his chest. The metal, crude but sharp, reflected the firelight.
Gromm attacked first.
His spear spun in a deadly arc, driven by the force of his wings. Orkus dodged by centimeters, feeling the wind of the blade on his cheek. He answered with an axe strike, but Gromm was no longer there; he had risen, using his wings to gain height.
—Up here, coward! —someone in the crowd shouted.
Both fighters took off in unison.
The aerial battle began.
Gromm was superior in every way: faster, stronger, more experienced. His spear danced in the air like a serpent, seeking Orkus's weak points. But Orkus… Orkus moved in ways he did not remember learning. His wings responded with new precision, his body dodged by reflex, his axes blocked strikes he could not have even seen before.
—What…? —Gromm murmured, bewildered.
Orkus counterattacked. One axe strike, another, another. They were not elegant movements, but they were fierce and relentless. Gromm had to retreat, using his spear to deflect the blows.
—Damn you!
They separated for an instant, floating in the air face to face. The crowd below held its breath.
Gromm narrowed his eyes. Something had changed in Orkus. Something he could not explain.
—Enough games —he growled.
He opened his mouth.
A small black sphere began to form at the back of his throat, dense as night, absorbing the light of the torches. He launched it directly at Orkus.
Orkus responded in kind. Another black sphere, equally dense, burst from his jaws.
The two projectiles met in midair, halfway between them.
For a second, the two spheres spun against each other, like two miniature black holes vying for supremacy. Then, with a dull sound that was not a sound but rather its absence, they dissipated each other. A shockwave of black energy swept across the sky, making the fighters sway.
—Impossible! —Gromm exclaimed—. Your sphere… nullified mine!
Orkus wasted no time. While Gromm recovered from the surprise, he launched himself at him.
The clash was brutal. Axe against spear, wing against wing, blow after blow. Gromm fought desperately, unable to understand how that mediocre warrior was matching him. But Orkus was not only matching him; he was beginning to surpass him.
An axe strike hit Gromm's side. It was not very deep, but enough to make him bleed. The man roared with fury and answered with a spear thrust that pierced Orkus's left wing.
—Aaagh!
Orkus fell a few meters but managed to stabilize. The pain was intense, but something inside him ignored it and pushed him to continue.
—Die! —Gromm shouted, diving down, his spear aimed at Orkus's heart.
At the last instant, Orkus turned. The spear grazed his side, and he, with a desperate movement, sank one of his axes into Gromm's shoulder.
The impact separated them. Both fell to the ground.
The crowd roared.
Gromm tried to get up, but his right arm would not respond. The wound was deep and seemed to have severed the tendon. Orkus, staggering, got to his feet. His left wing hung limp, soaked in blood, but he could still stand upright.
He approached Gromm, raising an axe.
—Enough! —exclaimed a young man, jumping into the circle to intervene.
Orkus did not even look at him. With a sharp blow from his healthy wing, the young man was flung to the ground, where he lay motionless.