The Children of Zegandaria by Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov (top novels to read .TXT) 📕

but I will say it again. Our time is limited, and I will use mine to the best of my ability to serve you. Be in no doubt.

Durnyam bowed his head and shed a tear. Om Gur Nal turned and walked out, leaving him alone with his grief.

The young man clearly realized something very important. It was not Om Gur Nal who was to blame, but he. And sooner or later he would be condemned by the higher powers so at least now he formally wanted to win and would do so. For the moment! He was just procrastinating to see the terrible truth with his own eyes! And it was so simple!

SER MAC ZON

CHAPTER NINETEEN: SER MAC ZON

 

Ser Mac Zon was trying to re-educate the people to see the guarrons as their full brothers, but that was unlikely to ever was ever going to happen. There were three reasons. First were the various hostile races. Second there were still some oddities in the behavior of humanoid lizards that didn't appeal to humans at all. The truth was that some of them still called them „green-skinned“, however derogatory such a name was. The guarron were forced to swallow such insults because of their guilty consciences of the past. But the truth was that deep down they had anger and anguish that was slowly simmering. They tried to atone for their guilt every day. They were trying! But they were still failing. They had studied medicine so thoroughly that they had surpassed humans to some extent. And all in the name of the immanent goal of being accepted as normal and equal beings - something that was never going to happen. There was another reason that only they knew - they had been dmogosed at birth. A famous song of theirs said:

 

"Where we tread, hope lies,

and the way you take is far ahead,

Take courage, thou stranger, do not pass us by!

For a wall awaits thee!"

Few, however, realized the hidden meaning of the message. But that would become clear a little later.

The hospital wards were filled with grief. Even the most advanced equipment could not, and should not, take the focus away from this abode of grief and hope at the same time. Guards, wearing white aprons, paced back and forth.

Ser Mac Zon knew all of the above. He even knew much much more. But he swallowed. Otherwise, their own survival depended on their work. If they lost it, they died. It was that simple.

No one wanted members of this race to be miners or anything else. Not that they couldn't. The guarrons were too intelligent for that. They could be scientists or warriors, but nothing else, and that was their whole life.

Ser Mac Zohn was thoroughly reading the many pages of his electronic textbooks on nano microbiology, anatomy and internal surgery. He knew that no matter how great their talents the guarrons, they were demented at birth and nothing good could be expected from them. The only salvation was the path of humility, but that was temporary.

Ser Mac Zon had been working here for nearly nineteen years. That was how long it had taken to establish the whole rich practice and get everything in place. He was a true luminary in the medical field and had saved more than one or two lives. But he knew he was demented. And it was only a matter of time before it came to its natural end.

"Why is our race perishing?," he asked himself, questions full of desperate hopelessness, "Who is to blame for this?"

The patients thanked him and gave him gifts. He had become super famous. They even Entrusted him with reimplanting memories. It was a great honor for him. Now, many human children from birth would enjoy his care and be shaped in the best way.

Om Gur Nal even made him the doctor of the year. This was an even greater recognition.

Even the crusty Ser Mac Zon broke into tears. He had taken a human name so many years ago. He had no right to shirk from his destined path, no matter how difficult and painful his existence was. He had everything. Almost on a platter, from delicious food to good treatment because of the elite profession he belonged to. But he was well aware that it was all just a facade. Sooner or later he would be brought to justice because of his origins. But he tried hard to help and do his duty. Still, sooner or later the decisive hour would strike, no doubt.

It was necessary to say, too, that the doctor had a hidden grief. He could have no children, not for biological reasons, but because of an unwillingness to continue his cursed lineage.

The professor's numerous assistants were like reflections of him - he had taken their minds with his immense talent and skill. They didn't even let him operate alone, but only consulted them.

It wasn't long before Ser Mac Zon became rather bored.

He didn't know too much about the history of his ancestors. He didn't care that much either. He knew they had done something very evil and vile, and that stain would weigh on him as well.

Time passed, and Ser Mac Zon grew further and further removed from real life, for better or worse.

But no one suspected it.

The Doctor wasn't particularly religious and wasn't in the habit of praying to either Midriel or Erduk.

But this time he wondered if he should. He had a feeling things were going to get worse.

- "Professor Ser Mac Zon, we really need you," someone called out. "They brought in a dying man. In fact, he's straight up dead."

"How does a drowning man swim?," the professor wondered sadly, then quickly jumped to his feet.

- Get him to the operating theatre.

The professor walked with quick and measured steps. He was so happy and wanted to help. He lived for this one, brief and so elusive moment. When he walked into the operating room, he gaped and was downright speechless.

- So this is General Zorin! What had happened?

IN HELL

 

"For some, Hell is a state of the soul."

Unknown author

 

CHAPTER TWENTY: IN HELL

 

- "I managed to kill the bearer of the medallion, but I didn't have the time I needed to get it," the demon rasped in a guttural wheeze. "The woman was particularly strong, she bore it."

- "Where is his soul then?," roared the god Arthusson, sitting on his huge and massive throne. "Then you have done almost nothing," he roared angrily.

- "Not exactly, my lord," the lesser demon apologised.

- "A true hadal[19] should be able to possess a man at least to the extent of taking his astromancer[20]," roared the evil lord.

The infernal domain was quite strange and could not be likened to just some dark abyss. The most accurate word was emptiness, full of unbearable agony. There was an atmosphere of pseudo-punk all around, which was to Arthusson’s taste. He didn't follow fashion trends all that much, but the design of even a punk had to be up to par. Human bones, hellfires, fanged snouts and whatnot abounded all around. Sadness was the constant companion of all the inhabitants. There would not be a moment's rest for them. If a new visitor came to Hell, he would first see lush gardens and impressive waterfalls bathed in the rays of a bright sun, but then the picture would sunsequently change according to the convict's state of mind. Thus he could relive his nightmares over and over again until finally, his soul disappeared altogether. This took between two and five thousand years. Of course the infernal lords were in no hurry to wipe out the souls forever, because there was no one to lord over. Everything would fall into place. And Hell was very different for everyone. Some saw the mistakes of their past lives, while others were constantly praying for water or bread because the hellish heat was burning them. There were still others, punished with a sense of eternal emptiness - they tore their flesh and gnashed their teeth abnormally. Violent whirlwinds were swirling around.

There were also dens in which ferocious dogs were relentlessly snarling at the sinners. But the most terrible was the pit of men with empty souls. They were condemned to seek their vocation forever, and their souls were eaten by leprosy.

The depth of the perceptions of each of those condemned to eternal torment determined his stay in this hell.

There was no room for any compassion. There was no room for forgiveness. Sinners had to suffer.

- "So at least I can find the woman," the infernal creature offered his services.

- "I think you're too late," Arthusson growled. "She's long gone. Or you wouldn't stand a chance of surviving long enough to find her."

The demon's ugly and crooked teeth hissed in fear. It was more than clear that his doom was near. But the hell lord wanted to prolong his agony at least a little longer. He had done too much wrong. There was no way out!

- "Tell me just one thing," Arthusson puzzled. "How did this woman see you? Or rather, how did she manage to escape?"

- "Maybe she's a ruj 'g zon or maybe she's been practicing ancient Cyrenaic meditation[21]," the demon shrieked, trying to shed his skin, though he knew it was useless.

Arthusson grew serious. He warned that certain infernal forces had intervened to turn the scales in their favor. The Hadal weren’t superior evil spirits and their spiritual energy was weaker, but this was clearly no ordinary woman. He wondered which of the diabolical pack he claimed to know all too well was meddling where it was none of his business. Or maybe it was his!

Hell's hierarchy was hellishly complex and tangled like pig intestines, but some of the major demons like Adramelech, who was better known as the "King of Fires" or the demon king Abaddon would lift a finger for a mascot, no matter how powerful he was. He ran through his mind the names of hundreds, even thousands of demons like Marbas, Astaroth, Belfegor, Azazel, Bael and so on, but seriously doubted they were interested in such a trifle either.

As the ghoul came to his senses, Arthusson raised his mighty hand and struck it mercilessly. He didn't even have time to squeal. It all happened in seconds.

In Hell, there was a strange lore about those who were slain by a demon. They weren’t allowed to be revived again in case of betrayal. In the superior demon's eyes, this case was just like that. There