Kor’Thank: Chapter 20

Ug Rung now looked spiky and forbidding.  Her engineers were constantly adding spikes, skulls, or extra jags of bladed plating to the barbarian city.

During her first year on Elithia, she’d managed to transform the Indashi kingdom into an oppressive, brutish society.  Now that she’d taken care of the big stuff—turning a nation of freethinking people into a gang of tribal-minded thugs—she was ready to focus on the smaller things.  Specifically, killing anyone who voiced the slightest objection to her draconian policies.  Deep down, she knew that an army of yes-men wouldn’t make for the best military, but her need for control would always come first.

Peter Lee had seen to that.

Peter.  Her lips curved up into a sadistic rictus.  I’m gonna cut out your ass-pucker and turn it into a leathery medallion.

Captain Megamore Bliktuk walked into her tent, interrupting her sadistic reverie.

“Our forces have surrounded Krul’Dar’s rebels.  They await your presence.”

“Awesome.”  Holly lowered a black-steel helmet onto her head and buckled its argythe-hide chin-strap across her jaw.  She rose from her chair and grabbed her sword.

“Let’s show these bitchfucks the meaning of justice.”



Holly walked outside and hopped onto her mount, a war-raptor whom she called “Gucci.”  None of her subjects had questioned the odd choice in name; she’d eliminated nearly every dissenter from her army.  Accordingly, she’d let herself relax.  She still used Indashi mannerisms when she was addressing a crowd, or presiding over a formal execution, but she felt way more comfortable when she was speaking like an Earthling.  Most of her servants had begun to imitate her.

She pulled back on the reins, halting Gucci in front of her generals:  Nyrock Hellscythe and Yinhalka Thorkblade.  They dropped to a knee and placed their fists over their hearts.

“Rise,” Holly commanded.  “Status?”

They both rose.  “We have them cornered.”  Yinhalka turned and nodded at a spare, rocky gully a hundred yards to her rear.

Krul’Dar and his rebels were inside the canyon, surrounded by thirty-foot cliffs, bunkered down in an encampment of lightly armored tents.  Holly’s bowmen had posted along the edges of the chasm, hemming the traitors in.  A slender trail led into the center of the canyon.

“Ladders,” Holly ordered.  “Smoke them out with fire, but hold off on edged missiles.  Have your bowmen cover your skirmishers when they make their descent.  Pass the word:  blunt weapons only, aside from the blocking force.  Capture as many as possible, but if any look like they’re going to escape, split them open from asshole to belly button.”

“So the blocking force will employ edged weaponry,” Nyrock ventured.

Holly looked at him, annoyed.  “Obviously, dumbass.  Now fuck off and bag me some dipshits.”

As the generals started walking away, Holly grabbed Yinhalka by her shoulder plate.  “Wait.”

Yinhalka stopped.  The cheerleader jerked her chin at Nyrock, who had also halted.  “Not you.  Prep the attack.”

Nyrock strode away.

“What do you think of him?” Holly searched Yinhalka’s face.

Her response was prompt.  “He’s a foam-faced jerkoff.  You provided every detail, yet he still required further clarification.”

Holly smiled.  “Foam-faced jerkoff—I like that.  Go.  Make sure he doesn’t fuck things up.”

“Yes, milord.”  Yinhalka placed her fist over her heart and walked away.

Outwardly, Holly remained silent and impassive.  Inwardly, she was fucking psyched.  Things were finally falling into place.  When she’d first arrived on this godforsaken shithole, all she could think about was getting back to Earth and destroying Peter.  Now, however, things were different.  Being a fantasy world despot wasn’t half bad.

Still—she had unfinished business back on Earth.  Maybe not as violent as what she was doing here, but just as brutal, in its own way.  There were legislatures to compromise, corporations to empower, debt structures to foster…

The skirmishers filtered into the gully and formed into lines.  She urged Gucci forward, edging closer to the embankment.

“Krul’Dar!” she shouted.  “We’re gonna burn you out, unless you order your people to stand the fuck down!  Think about their families!”

Krul’Dar walked out from the central tent.  He surveyed her forces with a grim eye.

“O’er a year ago, you told me you weren’t Kor’Thank.  Back then, I didn’t understand what you meant.  Now I do, impostor.”

Holly scoffed.  “What are you talking about?  I’ve been anointed king by your holy pedo, Asslick Fuckfinger, or whatever the hell his name—”

Krul’Dar cut her off.  “This is part of your becoming, Holly Dent.  Wodec says that things will be easier for you if y—”

“Wodec?” she sneered.  “Bring him out—I’ll set his ass straight.”

Finally.  She hadn’t forgotten about High Mage Wodec.

Wodec emerged from a tent and stood beside Krul’Dar.  “Holly Dent.”  He parsed her face with his snowy-browed eyes.  “Acknowledge who you are, and you stand a chance.  Continue as you have been, and you will increase your suffering by orders of magnitude.”

Holly leveled her sword at the weathered sage.  Muted sunlight glanced off its serrated black edge.  “Surrender now, or I’m gonna pike your bodies right through your turd cutters.  Unless you want a giant spear shoved up your gray-haired asshole, I strongly suggest you stand the fuck down.”

Wodec smiled and said nothing.

Holly snorted in disbelief.  “Y’all are some retarded-ass bitches.”  She turned to Yinhalka.  “Burn ’em out.”

Yinhalka called, “ARCHERS!”

Dozens of arrows—each one tipped with pitch-soaked fiber—drew back on their strings.  “Light-men” (younger soldiers who were tasked with setting fire to the arrows) scurried through the lines, holding torches up to nocked missiles.  One by one, they caught fire with a nerve-jangling WHOOMP.  Any warrior with the least bit of experience knew what that meant:  fire, helplessness, and the screams of friends as they burned to a crisp.

Holly, however, thought it sounded beautiful.  For some reason, the noise reminded her of when she’d briefed her cheer squad on her plan—how they were going to drop Lizzy Prendergast on her stupid fucking head.

The cheerleader lifted a hand, ready to slice it downward and loose the first volley.  The air became still.  A galvanic tingle ran from her crotch to her neck.

Wodec called, “Wait!”

“HOLD!” she yelled, simultaneously annoyed and thrilled.  Her order ran through the ranks; calls of HOLD! resonated throughout the gully.  She was eager to kill, but she was really enjoying this; she welcomed the excuse to draw it out.

“Something you wanna say, fuckface?”

Wodec strode forward, his totemic staff thumping against the ground.  “Your salvation lies in abandoning your designs.  ‘In sterquiliniis invenitur’—that’s a saying from your world.  And in your case, it couldn’t be any more accurate.”

Holly’s lip curled with disdain.  “I’m about to fuck you with an enormous spear, and you’re spewing quotes from a long-dead language.  How about some begging, dickcheese?  I might shorten your torture if you—”

Wodec grinned.  “In sterquiliniis invenitur means ‘in filth it shall be found.’  Examine your ignorance—you will come to the light by plumbing your darkness.”

“Enough psychobabble.”  Her arm sliced downward.  “LOOSE!”

Fire-headed missiles leapt from their strings, marring the air with a quick-shrinking ring of flaming dots.  Before they struck, Wodec closed his eyes and muttered something sibilant.  Blue tendrils leapt from the bottom of his staff and swirled outward in a luminous cyclone, tossing the flame-tipped arrows into an orange-dotted gale.  Krul’Dar and Wodec’s shoulder-length hair whipped and lashed around their faces.

“WIZARDS!”  Holly roared, shielding her face with a gauntleted forearm.  “YOU TOLD ME THEY’D BE—”

And before she could say “powerless,” Wodec and Krul’Dar stiffened and froze.  Their feet turned a rocky, dusty brown; the same shade as the scrub-marked ground.  The transformation crawled up their legs, changing them from living men into earth-formed statues.  Seconds later, the wind died down.

Holly slid off her mount and leapt into the gully, landing amidst a line of skirmishers.  Her right knee protested—a painful POP sounded from its cap— but she pushed it from her mind; she was too goddamn angry.


She shoulder-checked Wodec, breaking his likeness into fragmented sod.  Before the first chunks could hit the ground, she spun around, drew her sword, and scored Krul’Dar’s statue with a dozen cuts.  Due to the keenness of her blade, the Chronicler’s replica remained still and unmoving; she’d sliced through it so damn cleanly that it remained completely intact.

“FUCK YOU!” Holly screamed, soccer-kicking the statue between its legs. It burst apart in a puff of roots and sediment.  She stomped the head, obliterating its features, then sprinted into the nearest tent.  She knew what she’d find, but she had to make sure.

Dim spears of light shot through netted-mesh windows, illuminating a legion of still, silent warriors.  Every rebel had become a statue.

Everyone of them had fucking escaped.  Through that shit-dicked wizard’s shit-dicked magic.

Holly threw her arms out to either side.  She let loose with a long, anguished howl.


The cheerleader darted from tent to tent, pulverizing statue after statue.  Once she was done, she tromped into the gully, covered in dust and crumbly grit, her shadowed gaze dark and foreboding.  She climbed up a ladder and out of the chasm.

As she passed by Yinhalka, she hissed, “Burn it.  All of it.”


The light-men relit another volley, and arrows loosed with a resonant twang.  Black fumes poured from the tents, filling the gully with a giant cloud of acrid smoke.

Holly rode away on her raptor, backlit by the glow of rising flames.  For the last two weeks, she’d fantasized about making Krul’Dar’s cock into a grisly necklace.  Instead, that cunt-faced sorcerer had pulled some arcane bullshit straight out of Harry goddamn Potter.

Mother.  FUCKER.