A sun dawned on a snowy expanse, illuminating the slaver fleeing from his slaves.


    This was no ordinary sun, but the sun of Wardom, the Warrior’s Afterlife. Underneath the sun’s warm gaze, across the infinite plains, uncountable warriors from worlds beyond numbers waged endless wars. Empires rose and fell, seasons came and went, warriors died and moved on, and above it all, Lord Osias and Lady Ophira, the Gods of Death, watched.


    The slaver raced across the snowy plain, his breathing ragged. The man’s name was Mallesk, though at the moment he wished he could be anyone else. He had been on the run for what felt like ages, ever since the city of Snawkon had fallen a week ago. Mallesk had left his mansion the moment he had heard, heading south. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, just anywhere where he was not a hunted man.


    Mallesk entered a forest, still running. His pursuers were close on his heels. He couldn’t stop, not yet. He wondered if any of his fellow nobles still lived. He doubted it. Mallesk had been lucky to survive this long, and he feared he wouldn’t last much longer.


    Mallesk silently cursed the one who had done this to him as he ran through the trees. She had ruined the life he had worked so hard to cultivate in the Afterlife. He had only been forced to fight for the first couple of years, and then he gained subordinates to fight for him. His second life had been great, but he had always suspected he would pay the price that came with his power.


    He leaned against a tree, taking a deep breath. He hoped he had put enough distance between himself and his pursuers to allow for a quick break. His once strong body had grown weak due to the abundance of his wealth. He was used to splendid feasts, not desperate flights like this. He had only taken a small supply of food when he ran, and that had run out the day before.


    Mallesk flinched as an arrow thudded into the trunk of a tree near him. His pursuers were closer than he had thought. He took off running again, wishing for a longer break, craving the smallest morsel of food. A wolf howled close by, and Mallesk’s chest tightened.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Like many men, Mallesk feared death. True, he had died before, but at least then he had the option of Wardom. Now, he would have no choice. He knew he had not been a good man, and his actions led to only one destination: Tortdom. He would be tortured for all eternity, and that was a fate no one could face unafraid.


    Some would say death was worse in this life, for there would be no more chances. At least here there was a sort of life, even if it was stranger than the normal worlds. No one really knew what the next afterlifes were like, only rumours and mythology. That scared Mallesk. And of course there was the chance that there was nothing after this, that everything he had heard was false, that Wardom was the end. Normally that would send shivers down Mallesk’s spine, and that had inspired him to live a luxurious life while he could. He had bigger worries at the moment.


    Mallesk slipped in the snow, landing flat on his face. He struggled to regain his feet but he was too slow. An arrow landed on the ground beside him. A tall slim elf with flowing blond hair down to his shoulders appeared out of the trees, a loaded bow in his hands. Another elf came to his side, her spear at the ready.


    Mallesk looked from one elf to the other, knowing he couldn’t run. Wolves as white as snow paced in large circles around him, going in and out of the trees. He gulped.


    “Please, you don’t have to kill me,” Mallesk said pleadingly. “Isn’t there anything I can offer you?”


    “You have nothing we want,” the male elf said. “We own it all now.”


    “Your days of looking down upon us are over, human,” the female elf said.


    A third elf appeared, this one atop a horse. More elves were barely visible behind him. The mounted elf was clad in fine armour, and a cloak of pure white hung from his shoulders. His face was scarred, his long white hair pulled back to show off all his hideousness. A large spear was in his hands.


    “Please, let me live,” Mallesk wailed.


    “Glory to the Queen,” the elf said. He hurled his spear. Mallesk screamed as the spear flew through his chest and he crashed into the snow. The wolves leapt forward to feast.


    The revolution was complete. Mallesk, Last of the Great Slavers of Ralpor, was dead. The reign of Skadi had begun.