Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land (9 page)

“As for you others,” Yofel began through a
stronger voice, “Come over here so you can claim your flight
medals!” Before even receiving a chance to admire Molar’s cloak,
all the other fliers made their way over to Yofel’s side. Each of
them received medallions—rewards with which they wore around their
necks. The medals themselves gave off a circular appearance, with
the picture of a bird crafted onto its beautiful gold.

As the other fliers achieved their medals,
Molar walked over to the flight teacher when he asked him, “Can I
go fly now?”

After a pause, the dignified eagle nodded in
response. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Without another word, Molar walked over to
the edge of the balcony—once there did he spread his large wings
and set off for flight. He took not a single glance back at what
once was, the feeling of flight surging over his being.

While freedom seemed enveloped his mind with
sheer intensity, Molar quickly found himself dodging a wave of
pillars. Such obstacles were meant to carry the planet’s magma from
below Mocrano’s ground up to Earth’s volcanoes—thus ensuring
Mocrano’s safety. Their one and only purpose in existence was to
keep Earth’s natural lava flow from seeping into the city’s core.
If it were not for these pillars, Mocrano would be empty of all
life—filled to the brim with nothing but molten rocks.

Molar quickly came to realize how most of the
pillars were oozing out molten rock. Thinking it would hurt him to
touch this goop, he panicked in an attempt to wisp his way through
the series of pillars in front of his eyes. In order to do so,
Molar spun and squeezed his way through many tight spaces. Although
it had proven hard for a creature of his size to make his way
through such odds, he quickly pulled through.

As he left the threatening obstacles alone,
Molar noticed a series of pictures forming in his mind; ergo, he
noticed himself experiencing a strange vision.

In his vision, Molar took sight of himself
fighting Yofel in the midst of the Mapharaux. The grandfather and
grandson standing on one of the highest points in all of Mocrano,
the two of them strategically waited for the other to attack.

For a reason he was unsure of, an old blue
blade protruded from Yofel’s chest. He noticed his grandfather take
hold of the blade in his chest, his knees collapsing to the ground
just before the blade could penetrate his heart.

Using the last of his energy, Yofel took a
look up at Molar and weakly threw the blue blade at him.
Fortunately for Molar, the blade was only able to touch the tip of
one of Molar’s toes, causing practically no damage to be dealt.

Although he felt no pain, Molar began to feel
a great tiredness overwhelm him as he witnessed Yofel take his last
few breaths. As so was done, Molar asked himself,
What’s going
on—and why am I killing my grandfather?

--

Before the images could have become reality,
Molar gave a quick shake of his head, causing the vision to fade
away. It was then when he noticed the sight ahead of him was filled
with many working slaves and marketplaces. A shiver suddenly ran
down his spine as he hoped he hadn’t wandered off too far when the
vision had obscured his mind.

Whoa! My wings are starting to get a bit
tired!
Deciding to take a break, Molar flew down to the ground
in an attempt to land on the sandy ground below him. Struggling
slightly, Molar found himself bringing up a cloud of dust when his
enormous paws hit the ground. Shaking the dust from his head, Molar
felt something hard pierce the back of his head.
Ow!
Stifling a yowl of pain, he turned his head—only to see an enslaved
human male.

“Get out of here! I won’t let you hurt my
family!” the enslaved creature yelled. Even though he talked of
family, however, no sight of any other human caught Molar’s
attention.

Unlike most human slaves, this one had no fur
on his head—but plenty of blond fur on his chin. In Molar’s
presence, the man’s brow wrinkled as he tightly clenched his two
fists. What mystified Molar the most, however, was how most of this
human’s skin was apricot. The only part of the human which didn’t
give off an apricot color was his left arm—which was mostly
dark-gray with some spots of dark pink showing.

“What?” asked Molar, trying not to glance at
the hideously-displayed arm.

“Your kind isn’t welcome here!”

“My kind is welcome anywhere!” the griffin
growled. Feeling a flash of ferocity surge through his bones, Molar
pounced on the small human.
This must be what that bear felt
like when she was faced against me!

His front paws pressing onto each of the
man’s arms, Molar took sensation of the roughness placed into the
human’s gray left arm. It made him shudder when he wondered what
had happened to this slave’s arm to have caused so much of its skin
to die.

Waking himself up from the thoughts of the
gray-encrusted arm, Molar noticed how the man’s face showed no sign
of fear or sorrow. “Why are you not afraid?” he demanded
harshly.

“Don’t you know what will happen to me once
I’m dead?” the human slave sneered with a smirk of inferior
contempt.

Slowly and confusedly, Molar shook his head,
relieving pressure on the small human’s arms. His beak almost
halfway open, he stared into the human’s face as a sudden coldness
formed in his gaze. With a growl, he drew himself up to the human—a
beak only a tiny length away from the slave’s nose. Growling and
snorting, Molar wrapped the sharp edges of his beak as well as he
could around the human’s neck.

Not even flinching, blinking, or crying for
help, the human sat back as the coldness of Molar’s beak pressed up
against the sides of his neck. The chill Molar’s bones had created
soon turned into an urging pain as the little griffin’s beak began
to crush his neck. The urging pain quickly turned into a searing
pain as the human felt Molar’s beak seep into his skin.

Slitting his eyelids over his gaze, the last
thing this human felt was searing pain—in addition to a touch of
moisture near the top of his chest. Within heartbeats, he found his
neck slit open, removing the ability to breathe. His last sight was
the sight of a small griffin with its beak’s edges stained
scarlet.

Lifting his head away from the nearly
beheaded human, Molar was nearly dumbfounded at the hideous sight
upon him. Why any creature would need such a complex and disgusting
body was beyond his knowing.

Turning his path away from the deceased
slave, Molar wiped his bloodied beak with the back of one of his
large, lion-like paws.
I can’t believe I have a part of that
disgusting slave’s body on me!
he shuddered, worried simply
wiping the blood away wouldn’t stop the infectious particles from
taking over his body.

Lifting his wings into the air, Molar gave a
sniff just before launching himself from the ground. He hoped not
to run into any more slaves—creatures which would physically harm
him for running into where they believed he had no right to be.
Such was a thought that dared to bring his thoughts of Mocrano
upside-down.

The young griffin decided to enjoy the cool
breeze as it brushed past his bones and cloak. Still holding a fear
for randomly-appearing slaves, Molar began to feel slightly
uncomfortable with the knowledge of how badly he must have stuck
out while flying through the sky.

It was while in the midst of this troublesome
flight when he realized there were very few Mocranians who had ever
even been given a chance to reach such intense heights—as was his
current milieu.
Am I making people jealous?
Worse than that,
he was worried these jealous minds would wish to finish what the
human slave had already started. Slightly concerned for his
privacy, Molar decided to fly into a shadowed alley once he had
caught the sight of what he believed would hide him from all
eyes.

Landing into what he believed was an empty
area, Molar folded his wings back and allowed elation to cloud his
thoughts. Believing himself to be alone, he made out a cacophonous,
suckling noise creeping out from the corner of another nearby
alley.

Peeping his gaze through the alleys’
intersection, Molar took sight of a family of small, feline slaves.
A couple of the slaves were grooming their selves with their own
tongues—licking their paws and wiping them on their ears. His bones
surged with curiosity of what these creatures were, and what they
were doing.

A majority of these slaves—four out of
five—appeared to be underfed while a much larger feline protected
them. It was strange, Molar thought, to witness how four of the
creatures remained puny—which was a much different case than what
had been apparent of the fifth feline. Such a thought baffled the
griffin’s mind, to say the least.

“Mrrow?” Molar heard one of the felines cry.
At the sound of this noise, the larger of the slaves lay herself on
her side—after which the others slowly crawled up to her chest.
Upon making it to the largest feline, they began to suckle on her
breasts.

At this sight, Molar nearly laughed out loud,
wondering why any creature would ever need to perform such a vulgar
task.
Are they being
forced
to do this?
This thought
in mind, he began to think back to Carpla’s lessons.
Hasn’t he
told me something about this?

With a few heartbeats of thought, Molar
suddenly realized,
That creature must be a mother! And those
littler ones are her children!
The mother’s pelt was a
silvery-gray, as did two of the babies—one’s pelt slightly darker
than the other. A maple-colored pelt accompanied one of the other
babies—while the smallest and final baby’s pelt gave off a dark
orange color.

Feeling adoration for the baby slaves, Molar
gradually drew himself closer to the felines.

It was at that moment when the mother
suddenly removed her gaze from her babies and lifted her nose into
the air. Ears pricked, she began to sniff the air surrounding her,
finding something out of place. Slowly did she turn her head toward
Molar, alert flashing in her eyes at the sight of him.

Picking herself up on her four legs, the
feline let out a hiss—her back arched, nose wrinkled, and claws
unsheathed. A pause occurred as the only present noises were drawn
forth from the kittens’ mouths. The feline hissed again—this time
much fiercer than before, driving Molar away.

Not this one, too!
Molar rose into the
air, looking back at the angry mother one last time. He watched as
she sauntered back over to her offspring, allowing them to suckle
once again.
I still don’t get it.

It was then when he took hearing a voice in
his head—a voice which made him feel more pathetic than he had ever
felt in his life.
Did I just retreat from a
slave
?
These words echoed about in his head for the longest time.
Thankfully, however, he was able to lay waste to such words with
time.

Although he was able to keep the words from
reentering his head again, he was not able to keep himself from
feeling inferior. It seemed only normal to him that a slave would
begin to shake at the sight of a Mocranian ruler.
Apparently,
that creature is much braver than I am.

Molar took a glimpse down at Mocrano once
again. He took a glance behind his shoulder to notice the Mapharaux
seemed to share the shape of a writing utensil. Still glancing
behind his shoulder, Molar took one of his rear paws and gave
himself an illusion; with such an illusion did he make it look like
he were holding the Mapharaux. Mildly laughing, he removed his paw
and quickly returned his gaze back to his front.

Hopefully this time there will be no more
interruptions.
Much to Molar’s disappointment, however, he’d
only spend a few moments flying when he came across yet another
lake of malid. At such a sight did the griffin’s statement evolve
into:
Hopefully I can finally catch a fish this time!

Without a moment’s hesitation, Molar
plummeted to the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation did he make
his abrupt landing. Upon doing so did he peer over the malid’s
horizon.

Within the pool’s grasp swim many fish:
creatures of which he had caught sight of only a few times before
in his life. Crawling over to the pool of malid, Molar tried his
best not to scare any of the fish away. He could only imagine the
amount of vibration his feet sent to the nearby liquid.

Moving his paws as slowly and stealthily as
he could, he took sight of a whiskered fish flying through the
malid. Watching the fish closely, a new fishing tactic suddenly
popped into his head. Such a tactic was to pierce the fish’s eyes
using one of the many nails equipped onto his large paws. To him,
it seemed an ingenious plan—so he decided to try it out.

Stalking the fish while still remaining dry,
Molar gave a low crouch to the ground. He kept his head just below
his shoulders as the bones in his neck curled, giving him a
somewhat short appearance. All the while did he wait patiently for
one of the whiskered fish to come his way.

It had taken a while, but with time one of
the fish he had been waiting for finally swam over to an area of
shallow malid—an area which coincidentally had been sitting right
in front of him. Once the fish came in sight, Molar’s neck
stretched outwards, his beak wide open so that he could get a tight
grip on his slippery prey.

A rush of excitement flew through the air as
Molar’s head splashed into the malid. Its moisture rushed onto his
face until it almost came into his eye sockets. He gave a pull of
his head once he felt something come into his beak’s trap, assuming
he had caught a fish at last!

Upon pulling his head out of the malid, Molar
felt something flapping in his beak.
I caught the fish!
he
silently exclaimed in triumph. Just as the thought came into mind,
he turned his head while opening his beak, throwing his prey onto
the sandy ground far away from the lake.