Zinnia, the Demon Lord of Conquest

Monster type: Centaur/Satyr-- a white stag

Appearance: A swarthy skinned, lithe woman's torso sprouts from the thick white furred body of a massive centaur. Zinnia appearance is both lithe and powerful, slim enough to maintain agility while also sporting the musculature to outmatch the biggest of monsters and then some. This is due to her shocking low body fat percentage that etches out each individual ab and oblique muscles. She has an ample bosom and fur as white as snow, which includes her bushy head of hair that's so thick, any comb would snap helplessly in it. Stray leaves and branches are often found in it. Her hooves are large and powerful, shattering the earth where she walks, and she has a handsome smile that shines against her sharp jawline and powerful cheek bones, button nose, and deep woodsy brown eyes. She has a pair of massive antlers stretching from her head over her furry deer ears. They branch out into several prongs, creating a beautiful complex web like the thick boughs of a thick mangrove.

She stands massive at her full size, usually 10ft tall but rumors say she could reach 20ft in size. As a satyr, however she's much more human size, about 6ft in height, with a smug smirk ever present on her face. She's happy to walk nude, totally natural, but is willing to put on a thin piece of cloth to cover the important bits, cut from a tarp or burlap.

Personality: Zinnia is a proud, self-obsessed, impertinent, defiant monster. She combines the traits of toxic-masculinity with the wicked charm of a con artist. In her mind, she is the strongest Demon Lord and feels no particular desire to prove it, but she will. She mocks friends and enemies all the same and loves competition to show off her power and ability. She loves the sound of her own voice and doesn't have an ounce of shame to care what others think of her. She's also good-natured, happy to let people live their lives and inspire them to be better. She extols freedom to do what she wants, when she wants. It's a charisma that draws others who envy her to follow.

She's a true hedonist at heart. The past is a memory that doesn't chain her down and the future is a phantom that offers nothing but stress. She only cares about feeling good in the moment and will enjoy whatever catches her interest. She's a bit flighty in her interests, always looking for something new to enjoy, which is usually new conflict.

History: Zinnia doesn't have many memories from before she changed. She knows she was a beautiful white stag, the greatest in the forest. Does would flock to her and hunters would chase her everywhere, desperate for the chance to hunt her pelt and saw off her antlers. She evaded them for a while, but her herd would dwindle. Eventually, a particular long chase wore on her. She felt particularly annoyed that day and the thought to change it all struck her. Little did she know what massive incident was occurring many miles away that inspired this change. Zinnia wheeled around, to the surprise of her persistent hunter, and ran them through with her precious antlers, riddling him with holes. Ever since that day, Zinnia changed. She began bigger, smarter, prouder. She began to hunt the hunters. She proclaimed the woods hers, marking her territory and removing any who would challenge her claim. That included many other monsters in the woods, who she greatly enjoyed take down or subjugating. She learned the strength of a well aimed strike to the heart, but also a well placed word also to the heart. The monsters who she convinced to follower her with conversation thrilled her as much as the ones she crushed under her hoof.

Her swollen ego came as a result of her expanding mind. Before, she thought only of the little things. Food, shelter, mating, competition. Now, she thought of those very things, but on a broad scale. She is a creature of id, but also one who's one true enemy is boredom. She explored the woods, met new monsters, learned of how vast the world may be, and began to wonder and dream. She believes her mind to be too big for the world around her, always searching for something new to occupy her attention. Currently, that is her ongoing feud with the Hunter's Guild. They are determined to hunt her and her herd. She takes immense pleasure in denying them. The items she's pilfered off of bodies caught her interest, too. She's turned her gaze toward the settlements that the dryads and other nature monsters in her herd claim are too destructive, wondering about the cool things they make and what she might be able to do with them. Conquest buds in her mind like a sapling tree.

Abilities: Zinnia is one of the six demon lords, a Crowned King. She's a monster with immense strength and agility, allowing her to lift many tons with each and run as fast as the wind. There are few things as powerful or as quick as her charging strikes, which could crumble even a mountain. She's also incredibly tough, immune to average weapons that cannot pierce her skin and durable in the face of immense force that would turn most people to red paste. She's like the largest of trees, bending but never breaking. She's the strongest of the demon lords, but that's what they all say.

She carries Bloodwood Coppice, a heavy spear made from a unique wood grown in the heart of her nest fused with a blade made from her antlers. It's one of the Seven Blood Horns, flexible yet strong enough to amplify the force of a thrust tenfold. It's also a living spear, able to heal and grow, undoing damage and altering its shape.

As a demon lord, her base defenses require a weapon of good make with particular materials to do real damage to her.

Verchiel Desidirius, the Demon Lord of Astray

Monster: Thunderbird/Tengu/Harpy/Kinnara

Appearance: Verchiel is a beautiful young man, like something drawn in a renaissance painting. His sharp features are symmetrical and aligned. His matted hair is a dark purple, almost black, and his eyes look like a purple storm on close inspection. He has a broad torso, like someone slim bulked up, and a permanent resting bitch face that manifests as a scowl and glare that tells you whoever he's looking at pissed him off. He has a long neck that accentuated his Adam's apple, thin long fingers, and pale skin with an impressively flawless complexion. He has a dark crest within his hair, swept back like an aerodynamic arrow. It's a flexible horn, aesthetic and subtle.

His full monster form is that of a massive, beautiful black eagle who's feathers are multicolored at the tip, from purples to blues to greens to white hues. He has four wings that shine at night, each individual feather crackling with lightning, a beak of unyielding sharpness, and talons with pulsate with static.

In his human appearance, he wears unassuming clothes not unlike a bandits. Thick linens that can handle the environment, a loose scarf, and boots. His arms and shoulders are painted with Renaissance style tattoos, depicting an beautiful apocalypse under shattered heaven broken by a storm that floods the earth. The painter is unknown.

Personality: Most people would describe Verchiel's as a 'shit personality'. He's antisocial, bitchy, and hateful. Greetings are met with insults, compliments are met with sarcasm, and aggressive behavior is met with violence. It couldn't be clearer that the thunderbird has no need for friends and makes every effort to avoid stumbling onto any.

There is an undercurrent of tragedy to his nature, though. One might guess it's because he's afraid of getting close enough to anyone to have friends, but he also so clearly has a high opinion of himself. He's proudly say he's better than anyone else, but act like he doesn't think he deserves anything good. One rare person who's gotten to know him well has noted that as mean-spirited and cruel as he is, he's also got a kind side. Those who have earned his wrath rarely receive any form of mercy but those who haven't are largely ignored. He says he hates people yet spends a great deal of time interacting with them, even if it's exclusively through conflict. He enjoys control and manipulation, yet regularly puts himself into situations where he loses control.

Verchiel has a particularly strong interest in the expressions and reactions of people. How they react to unexpected, pain, tragedy, fear--and most of all, the truth. He makes a hobby of observing people, watching their faces. He can't help but try to shatter their realities with harsh truths and mock them for being too stupid to see it on their own. Most of all, he can't stand it when people mill around in the safety of their delusions.

History: Verchiel has a long history that he seldom shares. The one thing that can be certain is that he was around before the Incident, soaring through the skies above the Dark Continent, and was changed viscerally by whatever it was that occurred. He’s dedicated himself to destroying the Church, as if he were horribly betrayed by its falsehoods. He knows he could smite its priests with lightning and destroy their builds with violent storms, but it wouldn’t be enough. He aims to erode faith at its foundation. He works to undermine the Blood of the Forge with the harsh truth, forcing people to realize that their untouchable God is absent, their angels are oppressors, and the people are corrupt, power-hungry liars. He chases after the Church’s most closely head secrets, interfering with their plans. He has long term goals of finding a way to reveal what he knows in a way that would do the most damage, where people would have no choice but to believe what they’ve been overlooking. Turning Man away from their God is his vengeance, and he doesn’t care if they see him as their new god instead, though he would find it funny.

Abilities: As a thunderbird, Verchiel manipulates storms. Thunder and lightning particularly. His feathers brush against each other and the friction generates powerful lightning that he can discharge at will in a variety of ways. He can soar through the sky with ease and even transform into black lightning with his attacks.

He wields Bolt Down, one of the Seven Blood Horns. It's a pitch black scythe forged from his beak and feathers. It courses with his black lightning and is practically weightless, easily maneuverable, and gives anyone who touches it a painful shock. Because it's immaterial, it can phase through objects.

As a demon lord, his base defenses require a weapon of good make and material to do real damage to him. His body can phase into lightning to evade damage from mundane weapons.

Evelyn S. Bianchi, the Dusk Maid, Witch of Woe

Monster Type: Lich Witch

Appearance: As in life, Evelyn is a demure young lady with a small body, fair complexion, and colorless cheeks. With her body frame, she could be easily mistaken for a life sized doll, barely over five feet in height. Her hair is bleach white without a hint of color in it, thin and frail like straw as it cascades down in very straight rows. She often wears a bonnet with a thick, dull dress that covered her frail body. Her eyes are blood red, the only real splash of color to be found on her, and they are devoid of life within.

Her true monstrous form is a decayed corpse with the skin peeled away and blackened by intense frostbite, ice forming along the exposed bleach white bone. The eyes are absent besides glowing red pits deep within the sockets.

Personality: On first meeting, Evelyn is a lifeless husk. She doesn’t emote or expression any notable emotion. She’s quite literally numb to the world around her, uncaring to most things. It’s not unlike a deep depression that hangs over her like a dark cloud, sapping away her energy and ability to even keep track of time, simply letting it pass as she continues to exist. But as one gets to know her, you learn of the few rays of light that pierce that cloud. One would be hard pressed to find someone who loves as hard and as deeply as Evelyn. She is slow to form attachments, but once formed, she will care forever. She doesn’t bother speaking when there’s nothing to say, but she always listens and watches, absorbing what’s around her.

People misunderstand what undeath is, especially when it comes to Evelyn. She hates death with a fierce passion. She does not serve it or embrace it. All that she does, she does in defiance of the inevitable. She also fears the hollowness of loss. She can’t stand to let those she cares for be lost forever, and hates even more to watch people lose their loved ones. A mediocre eternity with those you care about means more to her than an exciting but brief life together. As far as defying death and chasing her love goes, she has no ethics. She’ll pervert God’s will and twist it to her satisfaction, whatever it takes.

Evelyn lives in the past. She stews in the memories of happier days with those she cares about. She frequently sifts through the old letters she shared with her fiancé. She obsesses and clings to it like a madwoman.

History: Evelyn was born as the sickly third daughter and eight child of the Bianchi household. Her birth was a disaster, with every terrible accident that could happen following in her wake. Her mother survived, but was crippled. Her father and eldest brothers thought her a bad omen but her mother protected and loved her, caring for her intensely. As she grew up, Evelyn was often bedridden as every disease came for her life, one after another. She didn’t get the chance to play outside like the others, so she stayed indoors, studying and playing with her siblings and mother. She was happy, staving off the feeling of missing out by focusing on what she had.

When she was seven, two of her brothers and eldest sister died in an accident. The shock nearly killed her mother, who fell deeply ill from that point on. Evelyn remained by her bedside for as long as she could, but eventually illness took her away from Evelyn. Evelyn was sent to the Dark Continent not long after, promised to marry a military man to help the family recover some of its lost influence. It was a terrible idea, considering the intense environments and unknown diseases that called the continent home. But she had no choice. She worked in a church, praying for everyone braving the wilderness and teaching the illiterate how to read holy texts.

Her fiancé was a young Saboath. He was a positive force of optimism and true goodness that cared for Evelyn and was gentle with her, never impatient with her many ailments. And she loved him. He spent a great deal of time out in the field while she stayed behind, so they communicated with long letters that they poured their hearts into. When they were together, they would speak from dawn till dusk, basking in each other’s company in preparation for the proper marriage. Because of her fiancé’s duties, she became busy as a cleric, praying for the dead and seeing their souls off, aiding in burials, and writing rites. She became intimate with the end of life, something she could relate to because of her constant illness.

Then her fiancé died. It was a violent, horrible death that broke Evelyn’s heart, shattering it to pieces. She was certain to die within months of the deep fever that swept over her, but she refused to let it beat her. She insisted on looking into the cause of her fiancé’s death, to find meaning in it. Prayer yielded nothing, for the Forge never truly answered, only his angels. And she knew the priests in charge were up to something. What she found was a horrible truth. In pursuit of this truth, she abandoned her faith, her duty, and her mortality. When the incident came, she took advantage of the surging power that swept through the continent, wielding it as a tool again the Blood of the Forge and God himself, occupying a throne in her obsessive ambition to do right by her slain fiancé.

Abilities: Evelyn is an undead lord. She does not breathe, eat, or sleep. She lives off life around her, draining it from her surroundings. Her sickness no longer threatens her, but in exchange she has to perform extensive maintenance for her continued existence. She wields negative energy that can eat away matter and drain life from living creatures and plants. But her specialty is undeath. She can raise corpses into zombie servants, skeleton warriors, and vampire companions. Her abilities are holistic, so while she may not be as individually powerful as demon lords, she can command an undying army with preparation. The many undead in the wild struggle to disobey her due to her ability to purge or strengthen them, bringing them to heel. She is skilled with fleshcraft, able to mold flesh and bone into new forms.

( hmmmm Think I can join 😉 might be a long shot lol but I can come up with some characters lol )

Xue

Human

Classification: Hunter’s Guild

Occupation: Xenobiologist, Independent Contractor

Appearance: A young, pale Asian girl with long white hair and purple irises, Xue is slender and petite in build, appearing fragile at a meager 5 ft tall. She often shows little care in her appearance, her hair often a tangled mess and cleanliness rarely a concern. She wears no makeup, though her lips are stained a permanent lavender. Her face would be called pretty all the same, with a sharp chin, smooth skin and thin nose. Her clothing tends toward simplicity, usually comprised of baggy black turtlenecks and sweat pants even in hot and humid environments. She wears a pair of plain glasses with black rims, often so grimy and dusty that it’s a wonder she can see through them.

She tends to fade into the background despite her white-on-black appearance, with those who meet her tending to emphasize two particular elements: her footwear, and the menagerie she travels with. What she wears on her feet will often be entirely at odds with the rest of her costume and the environment in which she resides, changing on a whim. The many animals and plants with which she travels are even more varied, often replacing essential or desired tools. With exceedingly rare exceptions, she is the only one who can identify more than a few of these.

Personality: Many would characterize Xue as withdrawn, but it is better to call her easily distractable. She prioritizes expanding knowledge and understanding of the world around her, often to the detriment of Hunters with whom she is paired, whom she commonly scolds for killing or damaging a target of her interest. Her interest is built upon a desire to improve the world around her, both that of the Dark Continent and Aissax. Her interest similarly extends beyond the Dark Continent, as she remains fascinated by the Saboath and the physical changes that they undergo, though she recognizes the Dark Continent as having broader potential.

Her interactions with most humans and human-like creatures are most often purely transactional: they are means of accomplishing a given task. With few counterexamples, she keeps her distance (often physically) from other xenobiologists, particularly those employed by the Forge as their purpose is often to instrumentalize what they find. The few humans that she shows any care or affection have either contributed to her knowledge or have shown a genuine understanding of her aims.

History: Xue’s memory of her history is spotty and focused on her findings. Her full history is as a daughter within a family of the Three Builders: the Artist. Born as the first daughter to this family, Xue was initially raised to take up the mantle, believed to carry the blood that her father. It soon became apparent that she had not inherited his powers, though unlike so many in these families, she was not immediately discarded. Instead, she was raised as an attendant to her younger half-sister of her father’s second wife, the actual heir apparent. After years of training, though, this effort was abandoned due to her complete inability to show care for her sister, instead running off into their expansive gardens to document every living thing on the property. Still, her mother fought for her to be trained, and so she received special training at a school in the Holy Kingdom. It was here that she eventually found a teacher who found a way to interact with her that paid dividends, providing direction and purpose to her desire to feed her knowledge.

She left of her own accord, finding her way on the first available ship to the Dark Continent. Upon arriving, rather than entering the long queue of independent contractors, she immediately wandered off into a forest and got lost, declared dead to her family after a week of absence. She returned after three weeks no worse for the wear beyond the now permanent peculiar color of her lips. She regularly travels into the wilderness on her own, though now that she works with the Guild, they do their best to limit those excursions, particularly as she has a habit of becoming indispensable despite the difficulties involved in working with her.

Abilities: Xue is only human herself. Though it’s unclear how her interactions with the flora and fauna of the Dark Continent have modified her physically, she hasn’t displayed any nascent abilities and is not aware of any. She does display a photographic memory that she has had from birth, as well as a somewhat confounding resistance to temperature changes, disease and, seemingly, to the world around her. She is never afflicted by bug bites and quickly calms non-humanoid animals, often taming them within a short period of time. She can go for extended periods without food, water or contact with other humans. She displayed these in some form before setting out on the Dark Continent, but each has apparently become more pronounced with time.

What truly sets her limits, though, is the flora and fauna in her possession. She quickly adapts to using new specimens, though her knowledge set is already broad enough to be able to fully utilize much of the life around her at any given moment. Most impressive is her modifications of those forms of life in her possession, as she has found ways to facilitate their evolution to better defend themselves, assist in tracking or pathfinding, or for a variety of other purposes. Though she is not known for combat and avoids it whenever possible, she is known to be capable of holding her own when circumstances require it.

Amadeo De Luca, Saboath of Sacrifice

Blessed by: Azazel

Appearance: Having stopped any apparent aging years ago, Amadeo is apparently a young man with a mop of shoulder-length brown hair and a pair of golden eyes. He appears abnormally pale, though his most notable feature is a pair of etchings set in his face that reach from the top of his head down past his eyes, extending from the corners of his mouth. Standing roughly six feet tall, he is most often dressed in camouflage of some sort, often including a mask that covers his mouth and nose. He carries a wide variety of sharp implements with him, mostly comprised of daggers lost in hidden sheathes located at discrete points all over his body.

Personality: By all accounts, Amadeo had a warm and caring demeanor in the early months as a Saboath, often being the first to a scene to protect others and utilize his newfound abilities in service of his people. Like those of the other Saboaths, at least pre-chrysalis, that personality began to change over time, slowly fading. Even now, that warmth is there, just buried deeply under something not quite human, but also not quite divine. Azazel’s influence over Amadeo is similarly strange for a Saboath of this many years, as he still has no apparent control. His influence is largely relegated to communication only, with some limited capacity to affect the behavior of his Holy Relic. Though he rarely shows it, Amadeo suffers deeply from imposter syndrome, unable to view himself as worthy of the Saboath title.

Otherwise, the fading of his emotions has had a… unique effect on Amadeo. Whether due to his mind trying to color the bleached sections of his personality, Azazel slowly filling in the gaps, or something previously hidden deep below rising to the surface, Amadeo has revealed strong sadistic tendencies, finding a sort of glee in butchering others, justifying it to himself as emblematic of his title as the Saboath of Sacrifice. When restraining these impulses, Amadeo will often be driven to harm himself. Nonetheless, his devotion to the Forge is second to none, and he will follow all orders given to him to the letter.

History:
Amadeo’s history before becoming a Saboath has been relegated to obscurity, largely forgotten by Amadeo himself. Whatever life he had prior to his ascension, his attachments to it died thereafter. Since his ascension, he has bounced from location to location, rarely interacting with the rest of the Saboath despite his 20 years in the role, abnormally long for one who has not yet reached the chrysalis form. His home, at least for the foreseeable future, has been the City-State of Moncalieri.

Abilities:
Amadeo is one of the Saboaths. As with all of his ilk, he wields the holy power of Azazel. This includes a base improvement to his strength and agility. Azazel also grants him a unique boon: Impurity. Attacks dealt by Amadeo can corrupt defenses, whether physical or magical. The longer Amadeo is in contact with an opponent, the more their defenses degrade. With flesh, this can result in atrophy, machines degrade and barriers that are magical in origin age rapidly and dissolve. This effect extends to any item he wields, so attacks with any weapon that remain in contact with the opponent for longer cause further impurities to build up. Any resulting effects remain until healed or repaired. More perfect defenses take longer to affect in this way, but also suffer more severe responses once affected.

He carries the Simpering Mantle, a cloak woven with threads spun from the ashes of Shemyaza himself. The usage of it bears similarity to the Cheshire Cat, with the user able to manifest additional legs, arms, and even wings that move mechanically in a manner akin to clockwork steampunk with speed that far surpasses Amadeo’s own. The sole exception is a pair of metallic masks that float around his head, automatically intercepting attacks aimed there. Any damage done to these manifested parts is rapidly repaired. Only the cloak itself can be damaged in a way that requires repair, with its defense functioning like the individual forcefields used in Dune. This protection is at its strongest when the user is targeted by fast-moving attacks, which often rebound harmlessly, whereas its defense is dramatically weakened when targeted at slower speeds.

[Clouds Asunder]

When man and nature fought, nature always won. The best man could hope for was to survive a little bit longer than the last time and take pride in that small milestone. Instead, that small win had them acting like they owned the world and nothing could stop them. The win was indicative of their entire place in the world, like a rat calling itself king of the sewers just because it found discarded cheese there.

It made Verchiel sick. They were far too small to feel so big.

So he decided to shatter that delusion, showing them what nature really looked like when it reared its ugly head.

About two months ago, this settlement had been in the middle of a drought. The farm folk came out this far because there was an oasis of special nutrient filled dirt that could grow the crops they wanted to cultivate. Imagine traveling miles into the wilds just for dirt. They were so single-minded and stupid. Years of being taught that they were above consequences made their minds soft. They wore expressions like excited little puppies about to get a yummy gift.

Verchiel could barely contain himself when the drought hit. They weren’t prepared in the slightest. They did everything they could to salvage what they could and survive the consecutive weeks of empty skies. It didn’t take much sabotage to make sure they failed. They floundered, begged, and prayed for rain. They cursed the land and blamed anyone they could for their own short-sightedness. It put Verchiel into such an incredible mood, he decided to approach them a week earlier than he planned.

He fell as a lightning bolt from a clear sky. The town was built around a beautiful hill, with homes built along the sides leading up to the peak, as well as across the surrounding uneven rolling lands. Atop the hill’s peak was an altar to the Forge and the angel of agriculture. Verchiel turned into a streak of black lightning that carved through the altar’s center, rending it to rubble beneath his talons. Then he reared back, raising his feathered head and extending his long crest, and released a cry that shook the sky like the loudest crack of thunder any man here had ever heard.

The people of the town were divided. The smart ones hid away in their homes. The dumb ones hurried over to gawk at him in shock and fear.

“Beg.” He commanded without an ounce of warmth in his tone. “Your God and your angel couldn’t bring you the salvation you desperately wish for. Because they can’t. They’ve failed you. So beg. Beg me and I’ll give you the rain they couldn’t.”

“Do you know what you’re standing on?!” A farmhand in his late twenties shouted the question. A few people cowered behind him, shoving him forward to ask the question. Two were priests wearing robes in the style of the angel of agriculture. He was built, like he was born for physical labor and sent every day in the fields. “That was built in honor of the Forge and his angels! You destroyed the salvation you’re promising!”

“Did I?” Verchiel scoffed. His voice was a bit deep and raspy when it wasn’t booming like thunder. It caught a number of onlookers by surprise, as if they were only now processing that he could speak their language. The farmhand’s frown deepened with uncertainty while one of the priests prayed in a whisper. Verchiel extended his neck to peer in the farmhand’s direction, piercing eyes echoing the mocking in his tone. “I didn’t realize the heavens needed three months to save your souls. All these weeks of echoing silence could’ve fooled me.”

“All we need to survive is faith! We’ll wait as long as it takes!”

Verchiel turned his head, looking toward the girl clinging to the farmhand’s arm. She was sallow and thin. She barely had the energy to stand through all this excitement. Her features similar to the farmhand’s. Clear eyed, determined. So unlike the other cowering humans.

“Then die. You’ll all starve to death soon. Starting with your little sister. She can’t eat your pride or faith.” Verchiel couldn’t help a mean spirited smile that didn’t show through his terrifyingly sharp hooked beak. “But I can.”

The farmhand’s face tightened. The priest behind him pointed at Verchiel accusingly.

“You’re behind the drought, aren’t you? This is all your doing!”

CRACK

A bolt of lightning streaked past the man’s finger, giving him a horribly painful static shock that dropped him to the ground, writhing in pain that had already subsided. The lightning struck a nearby house, blowing off its tiles and leaving a wide char in its wake.

“What would you do if it was? Pray to your angels to punish me? That would make you as stupid as you are doomed. The angels aren’t helping you. They don’t give a shit about any of you.” He raised a talon and knocked aside a still standing part of the altar wall.

There was a brief, stunned silence among the people.

“And you do?”

The farmhand glared daggers at Verchiel and spoke through gritted teeth. His hand gripped his sister’s more tightly.

“The angels don’t care, but you do?”

“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? You all could die right now and I would forget about you the next day. But watching you sit around and wait to die thinking you were doing it right pissed me off. Watching you be stupid isn’t any fun. So. Beg. Then maybe I’ll save you.”

“’Maybe’…?”

“You should decide fast. All the rain in the world won’t help the dead.”

With a great beat of his wings, Zerchiel took over into the sky again. A bellowing thunderclap accompanied him, sending a shockwave with sparks coursing down the hill across the town. A meanspirited farewell gift and a taste of what they were up against. By time they recovered enough to look up, the sky was clear, no thunderbird in sight.
~~~

The town was in turmoil. Tomasio had never seen division like this before. He expected everyone to lay the blame at the feet of that thunderbird. But everyone seemed so reluctant to even acknowledge it in the heat of the moment.

This all started months ago. He’d rode over with his family in the main caravan with a song in his heart and duty on his mind. They’d traveled thousands of miles from the People’s Populist Republic of Rhinestone to a new and fresh world. The Republic was devout, but they didn’t rely on prayer as much as the Holy Kingdom. Due to a contrarian policy, the decided to industry beat hymns when it came to showing the Forge their devotion. The Republic used its mines to build machines that made their tasks even more efficient, including farming. They’d brought some of those tools with them, but the environment turned against them as soon as they arrived. And now, so was his own family.

“You should have kept your mouth shut, Tomasio! You’re usually such a good child, why would you endanger your family like that? Was it hate? Did we do something to make you hate us?!”

“No, mother, of course not! No one else was speaking up so I had to-“

“You had to think for yourself, for once in your life, and say nothing!”

Tomasio winced an instant before his father’s hand struck him across the back of the head. Tomasio sat on a crate at the base of the hill. Everyone in town was out and about now, going over recent events with each other in a vain effort to search for someone to blame. The priests, the farmers, the irrigation consultant. Tomasio was at the top of the list.

“We’re in quite the predicament because of your son.” Adello, one of the priests, glowered at him while speaking to his parents. The surely old man’s words were as sharp as his angular face. “We’re all being punished because of his idiocy. People will die, and it will be on his hands.”

“He’ll make up for it, Father. He’ll fix this.”

I didn’t cause the drought. Tomasio thought bitterly. His fingers dug into the wood of the crate. He caught a glance of his sister being held near his mother’s skirt. She looked like she wanted to come over to him, but his mother wouldn’t slacken her grasp.

“The contingent won’t be here for another month. We need to be able to feed them and send them on their way. If they see us in this state, what then? They’d never recommend a Waypoint be set up in a ruined settlement.”

“Maybe we should have Tomasio volunteer to join them. They’ll appreciate the extra hands, someone to do their errands as they travel.”

Tomasio opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself. He knew better. But he came here to work the field, not follow a group of Holy Knights to who knows where. But what could he do, besides obey?

But he’d rather obey duty than give in to the monster that would destroy them.

“We don’t have a choice. We’ll have to beg for the monster’s rain. We can only ask for the Forge’s forgiveness.”

“No!”

Tomasio shot up to his feet and his father smacked him upside the head immediately.

“Enough, Tomasio! This is your fault! You don’t get a say in this!”

“We can’t give up our pride and faith to appease that bird! Please, father. Father! There has to be another way!”

The priest looks at Tomasio with an annoyed expression etched into his face.

“We’re not giving up. We’re surviving. We’ll tell that beast what it wants to hear. If it gives us rain, we’ll be able to grow our crops. We’ll make whatever we can and prepare for the arrival of the military contingent. Then they can kill the creature and we’ll be free of it.”

“We won’t be free of the consequences. The Forge will know we compromised. I refuse to give it the satisfaction.”

“It is not your choice, child.”

Tomasio ground his teeth furiously but knew better than to pursue the objection. His gaze fell to the quavering hands of the priest and his father. They spoke strongly, but like everyone else, they were scared. Tomasio was no different. When that monster appeared, a wave of terror swept over the town. It was a deep and chilling fear that emanated from every feather of the bird. Those with weaker constitutions were bedridden, hiding away until their shivers finally calmed down. No one wanted to tell that monster that they were refusing its ‘offer’ when it returned. All their lives would be forfeit.

The image of the creature was seared into Tomasio’s mind. Colorful feathers, all cool colors, radiating with power in the core of its body. Its posture was almost regal and the air hummed in its presence.

Tomasio took a deep breath and clasped his hands together to stop them from trembling.
~~

Did an insincere prayer have as much value as a real one? What constituted a ‘real’ prayer to begin with? Where was the line between an honest request made in earnest and an honest request made under duress? The relief they wanted was equally real in both cases.

Verchiel wasn’t sure what the answer was, but the sound of those pious humans begging the thunderbird for rain still rang with satisfaction. He stood atop the tallest tree he could find, overlooking the hill the farm town was situated on from a great distance away. He could make out every detail with his sharp vision. Lightning coursed across his pale shoulders down his arms to his long fingertips. His lips curled in amusement, unable to resist the high he was feeling. The sky began to darken over head while he looked up, smirking at the heavens through the storm clouds that rolled in at his whim.

Such a spiteful creature. A monster with no compassion for the humans he terrorized. A monster with all the hate for the angels he spurned. His laughter rang out with victory. The clouds closed shut, blocking the view of the sky. A rumble of thunder rocked the air, signaling the crash of the faux gates blocking the heaven’s view of the town below.

How Verchiel wished his playful display were anywhere near as literal as he wished. He reached a hand out to feel the droplets of rain that fell from his clouds, growing in number and intensity until a heavy deluge hailed from the sky. He granted their prayers, another feat the angels didn’t bother with. But it wasn’t a miracle. Not anymore. They wouldn’t think of it as one for long. He was already imagining the sour looks on their faces when honeyed hope turned to bitter despair in their mouths.

Alexander Bronte, Saboath of Alms/Charity

Blessed by: Zadkiel

Appearance:
Alexander appears as he did on the day he received his relic, or at least how he perceived himself on that day: a muscular man in his 20’s with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He wears the robes of a bishop for the Blood of the Forge, including a pristine white robe embroidered in polished gold trim and a tallit draped across his shoulders with similar design and knotted fringes. Otherwise unadorned aside from a pair of sandals and white gloves, he is often thought of as untouchable, as his clothing always remains pristine even through the roughest, dirtiest travel.

There are those, however, who swear that they’ve seen something different, a man of similar proportions who appears far less well kempt wearing rags, though all who claim to have seen it claim that it was just their imaginations. He is also very often accompanied by an older woman, one who doesn’t respond to efforts to get their attention. Some people who remember have even said that she bears a striking resemblance to the previous Saboath, though trying to look too closely at him made them deeply uncomfortable.

Personality:
Alexander is and has always been a man of the people, someone who tries to do right for his community and is upstanding in every way he can be. This is often done to a fault, with Alexander ignoring his own needs and wants in favor of those of others. He displays very little in the way of ego, though he also has strong opinions about how the leaders of the church, including the other Saboaths, should behave.

The last 3 months, however, have changed him. Alexander has become incredibly short with others, losing patience easily in conversation. He comes off as tired and irritable most of the time, and though he is still a very giving person, he now does so to his extreme detriment. Due to his relatively short time as a Saboath, he can only occasionally speak with Zadkiel.

History:
Alexander was raised to be a bishop for the Holy Kingdom. Handed over to the Blood of the Forge at a young age, he has been raised entirely in the faith, knowing little else throughout his childhood. Shortly after being raised to a priest, he found himself in thrall to a bishop who had been raised to a Saboath at a young age, a man who had been pulled out of his religious role and raised upon the sudden, unexpected death of the previous Saboath. Two years later, that Saboath was killed and, due to circumstances out of his control, Alexander was chosen as the next vessel.

It has been roughly 9 months since then. His role took him through much of the Holy Kingdom as he worked to control his powers. Those first 6 months were highly rewarding, and Alexander found himself raised to a bishop, just as he had always wanted. Zadkiel has been a positive influence over this time, encouraging him throughout. It was at this point that he was given the Tincture. After drinking it, an illusion of the previous Saboath, Delfina Fiore, became a near-permanent fixture in his life, following him wherever he goes. He has no apparent direct control over her, though it has demonstrated changes over time that have deeply unnerved Alexander, including speaking at rare moments and displaying a variety of grisly wounds for various periods of time.

Abilities:
Amadeo is one of the Saboaths. As with all of his ilk, he wields the holy power of his angel, Zadkiel. This includes a base improvement to his strength and agility. Azazel also grants him a unique boon: Endow. Amadeo bears four manacles, one on each wrist and one on each ankle, as well as steel headband. Each of these represents one of five aspects: strength (right arm), speed (right leg), sensation (head), substance (left arm) and stamina (left leg). The user can draw on any one of these five and dispense it to another, allowing the user to effectively min-max. The more that is drawn out of a given metal band, the weaker the band becomes, and any broken band results in an immediate and total return to normal, human levels of the affected aspect. At normal levels (without any distribution), these bands are effectively unbreakable. At maximum distribution, the metal becomes akin to normal iron.

He imbibed the Tincture of Bethesda. Believed to have been taken directly from the Fountain of Youth, this liquid is supposedly capable of recovering youth and health. The Blood of the Forge has been aware that this is a lie. Instead, the tincture contains a highly active and rapidly sporulating fungus. Anyone who inhales that fungus is subject to its effects, with each sense being affected by it at different rates – smell first, then sight, hearing, touch and taste (the latter two of which require a critical mass to be detectable). The fungus rapidly grows and spreads within the host but is quickly cleared should the Saboath no longer be nearby. However, hosts never actually clear the whole fungus, and repeat contact with Saboath results in rapid reactivation.

The host experiences illusions controlled by the Saboath affecting as many of the affected senses as the Saboath wishes. Saboath control over these illusions is limited, including lacking the capacity to change oneself beyond his or her external appearance (e.g. the Saboath cannot make themselves disappear). Saboaths have also reported strangely involuntary generation of illusions, including generating images, objects or people that the Saboath has never met before. Finally, the Saboath, as hosts of the fungi themselves, is affected by these illusions similarly to the fully infected and cannot purge the infection unless he or she renounces the Tincture in total. The Tincture can be recovered intact from its users, though none have survived the process.

[Bloody Tracks]

Watch out for their hollow branches. She’d made that as clear as she could to Ram Fist. The orc had been so excited, all thanks to that huge minotaur getting him all hyped up. He’d asked for her advice and she’d given it. But clearly, he hadn’t listened.

Zinnia trotted into the clearing that appeared in the middle of the clearing. Her hooves snapped several stray branches and wood chips that lay scattered across the ground. She looked up and squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun above. She’d been here before, but she could hardly recognize it. All of these cleanly cut stumps with flat surfaces had once been full fledged trees, all older than her. It didn’t take long for the humans to tear them all down and create this massive hole in the forest. The dryads living here were no doubt dead, and the animals that called the trees home were all displaced. It was hard not to be impressed by the sheer hard work that went into destroying so much in such a short amount of time.

Ram Fist lay on near the middle. At least, she was pretty sure it was him. It was hard to recognize the corpse when his flesh had been shaved off his bone, his teeth taken, and any other body part of value pillaged. There was barely anything left for scavengers to take.

Zinnia sniffed at the corpse and made a face before moving on. She had no interest in a smelly corpse. Ram Fist was gone, no point in dwelling over the remains. The trees were gone too. What mattered was that these people were sure to come back to take more. The minotaur had no choice but to listen now.

The woods around here were occupied by a variety of animals and monsters. The biggest ones were dangerous and independent, all doing their own things. The ones Zinnia had met were the minotaur, Worm Horn, the bigger dryad Juniper—she still had no clue what made that one different from the normal dryads—and the Tanarruk who she still hadn’t named. Worm Horn didn’t like her, Juniper was content to wait for the storm t pass, and the Tanarruk would attack humans to eat them but had no real direction. It was all a colossal waste. Together, they’d make these woods impenetrable. But they didn’t think humans were too much of a threat.

“Ah well. Proven right again. I just never miss.” Zinnia scoffed as she toured around the clearing, disappointed that the humans didn’t leave behind anything in their haste. She comes to a stop when she starts to pick out tracks in the grass and dirt. Lots of footprints and wheel tracks for their carts that were used to carry the lumber back to their lair. But a few tracks headed in a different direction, toward the area of the woods where her nest was.

Zinnia smirked and pulled her heavy wood spear from its place across her back, feeling its weigh and flexibility in her palm. She spun it a few times, enjoying the sound of it whistling through the air.

It was time to hunt the hunters.
---------

The Valley of Decay was covered with a foul stench. Like the name suggested, the putrid odor was that of a rotten corpse, amplified by ten times the wretched smell. One would have to be lucky to get through just by gagging. Any animals would puke out their insides until they died of dehydration. Stronger monsters would be incapacitated and blinded by their body rejecting the smell and flee the outskirts.

Adalman and his companions could only approach thanks to the ward created by Egbert, the priest accompanying them.

“Shit, shit, shit!” A stream of cusses flooded from Egbert’s mouth as they forged forward. He was looking around at the hideous landscape in disgust. The soil was rotten, the sky was covered in a putrid haze, and there were rivers of blood flowing through the sparse land. He held an icon in his hand that glowed with the miracle he performed. Each member of the group radiated with the same light.

“Shut up already.” Carla, the Hunter, hissed. She had her mouth covered with a cloth mask, one she tended to wear anyways. She was fortune, since the ward protected their bodies from ill effects but it still smelled foul. Everyone was wrinkling their nose as they walked through the valley. “It’s not going to get cleaner no matter how much you whine.”

“Shit!”

Adalman pointed ahead, directing attention to the stone pillars jutting from the earth along the uneven ground. They fused to an odd earth structure that rose from the ground and wound forward like a roof to the pillars, forming a makeshift cloister.

“There.”

“There, what? Some rocks?”

“Those aren’t rocks. Those are the ribs and spine of the Serpent.”

Egbert fell still, jaw dropped, and looked back over. He traced the cloister’s length out for several dozens of feet, as far as the eye could see. It grew in side with every yard gained, becoming large and wider, forming the skeleton of a massive creature, sinew and skin long decayed to form the soft mush at the ground beneath it.

“It can’t be. It goes on for at least a mile!”

“This is the thing you’re looking for?” Carla narrowed her eyes. “It’s already dead. What a waste of a trip. If we go back now, we can make it out before nightfall—hey!”

Adalman moved on ahead of the others, jogging along the length of the skeleton. Several times along the way, the group bubbled and hissed with poisonous clouds that spewed into the air, or jagged shrapnel threatened to pierce through his boot. The hunter hopped around to avoid them, relying on his reflexes to avoid the little dangers that could have killed a lesser man. Even a small scratch would be life threatening in this disease infested cursed land.

“Two years ago, this is the monster that wiped out the fortress that used to be here. There weren’t any survivors except the scouts who watched from a distance. They said it could have devoured the sun if it wanted to. It was obviously an exaggeration, but seeing its size, I can see why they thought that.”

“And you came out her expecting to find it alive?” Carla scoffed. The other hunters were following after Adalman, determined to stick together as they kept an eye on their surroundings. “Nothing can survive in this place. Not even a big monster.”

“But it stayed long enough to die. Why didn’t it leave like other monsters that can’t approach this place?” Adalman slowed his pace and took a few steps back. “I don’t think the land was what got it.”

Carla moved to step beside him and see what he was looking at. She squinted her eyes at the sight while the others moved to join them, all examining the same spot.

A section of the ribs had been reduced to powder, pulverized by some kind of external force. It blew right through to the other side, like something had pierced through its body and come out the other end. Similar spots like this could be found in several areas.

“Maybe…pieces of the skeleton caved it?” Egbert suggested tentatively. One of the other hunters gave a hollow laugh.

“No way. Look at the shape around the area of entry. This was done prehumous. Something killed it by piercing its body a bunch of times.”

“That’s insane!”

“I came here because I was starting to wonder how this land turned into this mess. It was livable when the Serpent attacked, so what happened? Did it curse the land? But now that I’m seeing its body, I’m starting to think…” Adalman looked toward the rivers of blood. “Its decaying body created all of this.”

What he really wanted to do was set up a camp site and call over experts in the hunters who could take samples and begin investigating the environment. His benefactor wanted to know if this could be harvested and used, or at least researched to gain more knowledge. Did the corpse do this to the land, or did it attract some kind of dangerous bacteria that ate away at its body, then feed on everything else? That last thought scared Adalman the most, enough to cover up his face with a cloth and ease back into a step. They weren’t prepared to deal with the cause if it effected humans, but they needed to know what it was.

“We need to take something we can safely store and carry. Let’s try breaking off a robe bone and scoop up some dirt. That should work to star-“

“Uh, Adalman?”

Adalman looked over toward Carla, then followed her finger to where she pointed.

In the distant horizon, several shambling figures were making their way toward him at a casual, but deliberate, pace.

Adalman looked the opposite direction. More movement headed in their direction.

They were surrounded. No wonder there’d been no sign of attack all this time. They’d waited patiently for the sun to drop and surrounded them so there would be no path for escape.

Shit. Did these things really have the smarts to coordinate like this? They should be tearing each other up to get to their prey first. Adalman had planned to use that opportunity to retreat in the chaos. From here, he could see the scraps of cloth on them, the old uniform of those who had been stationed here. Did they have some lasting memory of tactics? That was really worse case scenario.

“We’ll focus our attacks on one point in their ranks and bust through. Survival is our priority, got it?”

The others nod as their prepared their weapons along with Adalman.

“Got it!”

[Unwelcome Strife]

“I apologize, sir. She has a bad habit of wandering off.”

“So I’ve heard…”

Orpheus responded to the apology through clenched teeth, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he clenched and unclenched his hands. This was the fifth time he’d asked, and once again, that girl was nowhere to be found. What a fucking waste of time. He was half tempted to take the two day-long trip back from this remote forest Lodge to the capital to give the Guild master there a piece of his mind. Orpheus knew there were dozens of other effective trackers and xenobiologists out there, yet the master insisted that this was the one he had to find. She had said that his odds of finding her parked here at any given time were minimal, but gone for weeks at a time? And wander off where, exactly? Most people wouldn’t survive a few hours in the territory surrounding this facility, let alone a single woman.

But that’s what they told him: Xue was something special. Given her familial ties, Orpheus wouldn’t be surprised if everyone was just blowing smoke up her ass, but this hadn’t been his choice. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, slowly slipping down his arm to join one of his own. He relaxed his arms, letting her pull them apart. Eurydice was a vision as always, and her touch immediately calmed him… at least a little.

“Same answer?”

“It never changes.”

She came around to face him. Most of her head was lost in her red hair, which cascaded down the sides of her face and cut off at her shoulders. She let a large bang fall in front of her hazel right eye. She had brown skin and a stocky frame, though she stood almost as tall as he did at almost six feet. She wore a similar uniform to him, a leather jerkin that had seen better days with scattered iron studs, some of which were clearly missing, over a long-sleeved brown shirt and tan leggings with knee-high boots, all stained and scarred. She could look beautiful in anything.

“Then you make the call, Orph.”

He chuckled. “You know it’s never just my decision, Eurydice.”

She frowned. “I keep telling you not to call me that.”

He didn’t correct himself. Her real name was Tanya, though he never felt it suited her. From the moment they had met, to him, she would always be Eurydice, the embodiment of beauty. He tended to stick to pronouns when he had his wits about him, though now was not one of those times.

“It’s been five days,” he said gruffly. “I think we should expand our search and just leave this fool’s errand behind.”

“But you heard what the Guild master said. No one else knows this part of the continent nearly as well.”

He harrumphed. “I find that harder to believe the more we sit here, though even if she was right, we cannot wait forever. We’re bleeding through our savings camping here – the vendors are bleeding us dry.”

She looked worried for a moment, checking around them. The storekeepers were a touchy lot, often upcharging them for any perceived slight. He should have kept quieter.

“We can’t just go wandering off into the wilderness, though.”

“This ‘Xue’ apparently did.”

“And the whole reason we’re here is that she is apparently a special case in that regard.”

She had a point, though he hated to admit it. Orpheus was no stranger to being put in dangerous situations and seeing his way to the other side, nor was Eurydice a slouch herself. Both of them were experienced Hunters who had experience finding and capturing a great deal of flora and fauna on the Dark Continent for this purpose. But that experience had taught them take care. Never stray from the trodden path. Bring provisions to avoid having to rely on contaminated water or dangerous food. Avoid sleeping on the ground. Get in and out as soon as possible. Most importantly: always bring a guide.

Around here, most of the guides had either moved on due to the dangers and frustrations, or had been lost in those forests, never to be seen again. They had been told that it was particularly difficult to map out this area, though the “why” of that remained elusive. Rumors chalked it up to everything from this being the territory of a Demon Lord (as if any of those beasts would allow a structure like this to stand unmolested), to the trees themselves moving to confuse travelers and mapmakers, to just concerns that the flora and fauna around here were so untamable that they actively rejected human beings. Eurydice was quick to dismiss all of these, though even she was reticent. Orpheus, meanwhile, had experienced both the northern tundra and the western deserts of this continent. He knew to expect what he would consider impossible.

Still, he chaffed. Like it or not, this was a job they needed to complete. Hunters who were assigned jobs like this with such huge price tags learned quickly that they were tests. Orpheus and Eurydice had long been given odd jobs tagging along with other Hunters or offering protection to merchants, yet now they’d been given a task for only the two of them, one with a timeframe. And time was running out.

The Hunter’s Guild would often employ their own guides for such trips, and at HQ, there were usually options available. Apparently, every one of those options declined the opportunity. So, they relied on an independent contractor. They had sent word ahead of them – weeks ahead – and their only response was a hastily scrawled piece of paper featuring these coordinates and “WAIT” in all capital letters. It was unsigned, though he’d been assured that it came from her. The Guild had given them over a month to do this, which Orpheus had remarked was unusual for travel only a mile through the wilderness. The man who had delivered their charge chuckled at that. “You’ll see,” was all he said.

Orpheus saw alright. He saw Eurydice growing more tired and anxious by the day. He imagined he had the same look as she put on a strained smile.

“We’ve still got time, Orph,” she said comfortingly. “It’s getting late and the weather is awful. No one’s coming here in this, and if they do, it will be to dry off and get some rest. Maybe it’s time we-“

The door at the end of the hall slammed open. There weren’t many others there, and chatter was minimal, so everyone looked around. It was difficult to see anything in the twilight outside, but Orpheus could make out what looked to be a small figure that looked more muck than human, a pale hand extended outward. As they walked forward, the figure slowly resolved into a squat form covered nearly head to toe in muck, body bent over in… what looked like a black tarp. As soon as they were inside, they reached back and shut the door behind them before peering inside. All eyes were on them.

The tarp slowly fell off of her as the figure walked in, revealing a young woman with white hair that was browned by caked in mud. Much of her face was covered in it, too, including a pair of glasses that sat awkwardly on her face, though she seemed not to notice or care. Much of her body was covered in long, black clothing that was likely similarly smattered, though he couldn’t tell. Her hands and forearms were cleaner, apparently due to being exposed to the rain before her entry. Her shoes were similarly caked, though that was where she set her initial focus, shaking off what she could from her ankles and feet. A shock of fuchsia peeked through, but her efforts appeared to be in vain.

“Xue, I take it?”

Orpheus’s voice boomed across the long distance between them, a note of frustration that he had tried to keep out of it still present. He grimaced. Xue looked about her as if searching for the source of the voice, but rather than finding him, her grime-covered glasses fell on a nearby counter with a waiting attendant. He took it in stride, as though this was any other day.

“Welcome back, Ma’am. How long will your present stay be?”

Her lips thinned to a line as she pursed them. “I’ve told you not to call me ‘Ma’am.’ Long enough to change.” As she turned away from the gentleman, she flipped her long, wet hair in his direction. Surprisingly, he had the presence of mind to slide the window in between them before she did this, almost as if this was a regular occurrence.

She began walking toward a set of lockers built into the opposite wall. She reached one that looked well-worn and lacking a lock. She jimmied it open. Stacked inside was a mountain of color with a couple of dark items down at the bottom. A couple of the colorful bits came free and rained down upon her, though she didn’t seem to notice. Orpheus realized that the vast majority of the items were… shoes? She grabbed the ones that fell out, quickly stripped off her mud-covered ones, and shoved them into the bottom of the stack. She then grabbed a random pair of what appeared to be neon green sandals, putting them on in a deft motion before slamming the locker shut and spinning to leave.

Eurydice was on top of her before she could take a step.

“Excuse me, could I have a word?”

Xue narrowed her eyes as she looked up at Eurydice, who towered over her.

“I’m busy.”

She tried to sidle past Eurydice, but the much larger woman easily eclipsed her path.

“Yes, I can see that. We have business as well.”

Eurydice motioned to the Hunters Guild badge near her right shoulder, a simple pair of swords crossed over a field of green with her name, Tanya, written in silver letters below. Xue wiped absently at her glasses with a grime-covered black sleeve, accomplishing little more than smearing the caked on mud, though she did seem to somehow register the badge.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?”

Eurydice kept her cool with apparent effort. “My husband sent you a message weeks ago. You were commissioned to find-“

Xue waved a small hand in her face, evoking a puzzled expression from Eurydice. “I can’t bother with that now. Find someone else to play pathfinder.”

The effort became more pronounced. “We had a deal.”

“Yes, past tense. We ‘had’ a deal. Now, we don’t.”

Color rose in Eurydice’s cheeks. “We’ve waited five days to-“

“And whose fault is that?”

She tried to slide around Eurydice, but the larger woman reached out and grabbed hold of a black sleeve. The grip was tight, and when she spoke, it was with a cold fury Orpheus had rarely heard.

“Five days for a one-day journey. Maybe the pampered daughter of a prophet can stand to lose that kind of time and money, but Orph and I cannot. You gave us your word.”

Xue looked up directly into Eurydice’s eyes with an indifferent expression.

“Whatever it cost you doesn’t matter to me, though I wouldn’t have enough to pay you if it did. I’m not here to do your errands.”

The grip tightened further, and Eurydice’s voice came out as a growl. “If you don’t follow through on this, I’ll have you removed from any future Guild contracts.”

At this, Xue burst out laughing. There weren’t many people in the hall, and they had been pointedly ignoring this conversation until now. All eyes drew towards the pair as Xue wiped tears from her eyes with a dirty hand, causing her eyes to water more.

“Remove me? Please do, if you can. The Guild practically forced me into this business, and people like you are the reason why.”

Orpheus finally managed to force himself into motion, concerned that the shaking motion in Eurydice’s hand was spreading to the rest of her body as her anger worsened. She apparently couldn’t speak through clenched teeth. Xue didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed, though her eyes drifted down to the clenched fist on her sleeve.

“Speaking of removals, would you mind? I’ve got places to be.”

Orpheus’s hand rested on Eurydice’s before she could do something violent with it. Her furious expression turned towards him, and in passing, she appeared to recognize the pairs of eyes on her. A different sort of color climbed into her cheeks as she released the smaller woman. Xue smoothed out the sleeve before looking over at Orpheus herself.

“I suppose you’re expecting something from me as well?”

Orpheus suppressed a sneering response, trying to project calm. “Only what you promised us.”

Xue rolled her eyes. “Yes, another trip into the forest so that you can vandalize for the almighty Guild?”

Calm. Remain calm. “We have no other options.”

Xue laughed. “Of course you do!”

She got up, walked to the door, and shoved it open, one hand barely keeping it ajar against a gust of wind.

“Find your own way! You both look plenty strong and capable. No one’s stopping you.”

Orpheus crossed and gripped his arms, hard. “We wouldn’t seek you out if it were so simple.”

Xue let the door slam shut, striding back towards him with newly wetted shoes slapping the floor. She stopped directly in front of him, forcing him to look down to see her.

“Do you have a single clue what’s out there, any idea what some Grand Hunter has charged you with? Perhaps they didn’t even know. So, what you’re expecting isn’t just a guide, it’s a crash course in the flora and fauna that surround us, and someone to save you when, inevitably, each of you gets within an inch of death. We also reside close to and will travel through the territory of a particularly dangerous Demon Lord, which is probably why they sent you instead of coming themselves. Pray tell, was all that among the things I agreed to do?”

His arm felt sore and he forcibly relaxed his grip. “I’m sure the path is difficult, but we have survived-“

She raised her voice to interrupt him. “Spare me your exploits. The Guild doesn’t pair me with new Hunters often, but when they do, it’s because there are no others.”

He maintained silence, knowing she was right. He felt lost for words as she met his gaze evenly through her grimy lenses, seemingly oblivious of both their differences in size and her own absurd appearance. They were out of options, and she held all the power here. And Xue clearly knew it. So did Eurydice, who had put down roots through this exchange.

After what felt like ages, Xue broke her gaze and walked to the door, opening it rapidly and standing in the frame as a bolt of lightning struck outside.

“I’m not going your way, but if you want any chance of finding what you’re looking for, try to keep up.”

Orpheus had to pick his jaw up from off the floor before gathering his things and hurrying after her, Eurydice running ahead of him, as the door started to close.

-----------------------------------------­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­---­-

There were only a handful of large towns on the Dark Continent that were run by The Blood of the Forge, populated chiefly with missionary forces and their families that were here for all manner of tasks, chiefly to convert more of this untamed, tainted land to their cause. There was always a large contingent of Hunters running in and out of Lodges like blood pumped from a heart. Yet, most of those paled in comparison to the few cities that had been founded on the coastlines, particularly its capitals. Rather than continuing to build out, these were built up to rival the surrounding landscape with their beauty, particularly relevant in their cathedrals. Built with radiant spires and domes, these were the crown jewels of the Forge on this continent, a symbol of their permanence and fortitude.

How ironic, then, to look upon the fallen city of Constance and see its grand cathedral, a site to rival even some of the most iconic structures of Assaix, in ruin. Efforts made to rebuild were thwarted by sudden and massive attacks by monsters of all kinds. Much of the city also lay in ruin, though people still lived here, albeit at great risk to themselves. Stranger still, they chose to live here in a city that never saw the sky, shut off from the world by the unholy globe of energy that had surrounded the city since the day it fell. That would, of course, portend other devastating losses, though they had never truly shaken the death of this city. None of them had.

This place had long since been laid to ruin before Alexander arrived on the continent, yet now was the first time that he had made the pilgrimage to witness it. It was beautiful in a way, though he felt as though he was admiring some long-dead civilization rather than a that stood defiant against the wilds just two years ago.

Good men and women had died here, especially in the days after the veil fell. Some called it a shroud, though that wasn’t accurate. Shrouds protected the dead, offering a final opportunity to honor the dead. This place was neither protected by this strange energy nor was it honored by it.

Most importantly, one was buried in a shroud. It was permanent. There was also an air of finality to a shroud – once covered, you acknowledged a person as gone. This place was still populated, albeit sparsely, with humans who either refused to leave the broken remains of their lives or were housed and performed hunts for the sole surviving Lodge, which was more of a bunker built into a nearby cliffside.

By contrast, a veil was a symbol of mourning for what had been lost, a recognition of that which was gone that would, eventually, be lifted. Many saw this as a permanent fixture in this city, but Alexander wouldn’t allow himself to believe that. Anything with a beginning must have an end…

It… it must.

Alexander pointedly refused to look over his shoulder despite knowing a set of eyes were there, boring into the back of his head. He suppressed a shiver as he strode forward, distracting himself by peering upward. Within this space, all he could see of the sky was a roiling, inky blackness. From the outside, this place would appear shrouded in a fine mist of dark particles that seemed to suck in light rather than exuding color. Within, it appeared more like a murky fog, dense and permanent. One could barely tell whether it was day or night in this place, with visibility always at a minimum past more than 10 meters.

Still, looking through the corners of his eyes, he glimpsed signs of movement. Some of those were likely to be animals – veil or no, many of them still knew to fear humans – while others may have been people. They were all scraping by, if just barely; The Forge had stopped providing them with aid over a year ago. Some said it was their choice if they starved in these ruins.

Alexander couldn’t think that way. These were all human beings, worthy of far more than this. He was one of the few who visited here, if only to give them hope – scant few people these days had the power to deny him. On rare occasions, he could even see some of those humans wander out and stare at him. They saw what he wanted them to see: a radiant man with blonde hair, resplendent in shining armor striding with sure, even steps. The manacles – two on his wrists, two on his ankles and the ring around his head – were hidden from view by the illusion. It was a mask, of course, though it was the one he needed for now.

Still, some of those eyes drifted to the figure behind him…

He shook his head and kept moving. He wasn’t here to wax poetic or look pristine. He was here to reestablish order.

As he neared the city square, the quiet under the veil began to give way as a cacophony of noise arose. Alexander had been informed by a Hunter in the area that there was an unusually large pack of beasts that had wrested control of this area. Guild was loath to commit to the task of eradicating them, both because doing so wasn’t particularly lucrative (no one here would pay them) and because larger groups of beasts were too dangerous for all but the most seasoned Hunter teams to face…

That, or one particularly driven Saboath who happened to be in the area…

Alexander stopped walking, blocking out the sound of the chaos ahead. Why… why was he here?

“Destiny.”

At last, he turned to face the figure who had followed him, the one who made no sound with her footsteps and now stood eerily close to him. In her time, the former vessel of Zadkiel had been considered the most beautiful among their number. That beauty was generated by her illusions, so much so that her appearance was almost impossibly exaggerated: a statuesque woman with an hourglass figure that curved far too perfectly and shaped to her pristine white dress far too well. Her hair, a long golden braid that extended down past her hips, too pristine to be made of real hair. But if that didn’t give her away, the impossible pink-green hue of her eyes and the far too early bleaching of her skin (she had not been in the role for nearly long enough) most certainly would. Everyone with these powers used to them in part to better their appearance, but even among them, Ivana was an outlier.

Or, at least, she had been. When she was murdered, the corpse she left behind was far less flattering, one that had wasted away to nearly nothing under her façade long before she was killed. Alexander remembered thinking at the time: why would she allow her body to degrade so much under her illusions? He understood now.

On the day he acquired these powers, she had appeared, and no amount of effort could dispel her illusion. Alexander had seen and her predecessor multiple times and never noticed a similar phenomenon. He had combed through archives of previous vessels of Zadkiel and none of them had. This was apparently unique to him. She stood sentry over him even while he slept. The speaking, however, was relatively new. He still couldn’t tell if she was responding to him at times.

The disturbing nature of her presence wasn’t why he avoided looking at her so often. For now, at least, she looked as she had wanted others to see her… but he had seen… flashes. Wounds that spread across her body, breaks in the illusion, the briefest of glimpses at the girl under them all. No, whatever this was, it was very much outside of his control.

He wrenched his gaze away – his curiosity briefly overcoming his fear – from the now placid and quiet figure as he turned his attention back to the approaching roar of sound. It wasn’t much longer before he found himself in what used to be the central square of the city, a hub of activity that would have rivaled some of the bigger cities on Aissax.

What activity was there now was partially obscured by the fog around them. Alexander diminished his stamina slightly, making him feel light-headed, to enhance his sensations. He blinked away tears at the sudden onrush of sound as the volume appeared to jump several decibels, rising from a dull roar to a cacophony in an instant. It was still difficult getting used to that. Suddenly, his eyes could perceive everything around him with a clarity that even the fog could not diminish. A pack of large direwolves were spread out before him. Most of the noise he had heard was little more than play between them, as their claim to this land had long been established before his arrival and few would dare oppose them. Still, he could spot a few areas where they were fighting over food, realizing with a slightly queasy feeling that at least some of those looked vaguely human.

He braced himself physically for an attack, using his illusions to boost the sound of his voice.

“Beasts, you have two options: leave this place to its original owners or die here.”

All the wolves looked up simultaneously at his words. He had expected a mad rush at him, but they just stared at him, eyes shining in the dark as though reflecting some unseen light. Alexander stared back, scanning the crowd.

“We are ‘owners.’”

The voice might have surprised him if he hadn’t been forewarned. A much larger direwolf, roughly twice the size of its fellows, that had been just out of sight behind a building loped out, eyes fixed on him. This female had led them into the city and helped set up camp here. A few Hunters had tried and failed to kill her in hopes that doing so would end the grip of the pack, though their efforts had clearly done little beyond a few scrapes and an arrow still sticking out her right flank.

Alexander made a show of looking at their surroundings. “Did you build this, then?”

She growled in response. When she spoke, it came out in a guttural sort of bark. “Humans steal from us to build!”

He sighed. “Whatever claim you believe you have, I won’t allow you to stay here.”

She appeared hesitant, her gaze shifting from him to the illusion behind him and back. This direwolf may not be familiar with what a Saboath was, but she was instinctually cautious. Alexander had assumed that the Hunters who had come for her were far more careful in their approach. A more brazen human, emanating a surreal light and projecting with a booming voice that belied their size? That was a different story.

“So, what will you choose, then?”

She eyed them, her eyes flitting to two nearby wolves. A quick twitch of her snout, and they were in motion, slinking towards him. They gave him plenty of time to dump back his stamina, turning them into shadows before his eyes. With this many, a long fight was plausible, so he needed to be prepared for it. Instead, he lightly transferred from substance – his left arm – into speed – his right leg. He felt light as a feather as he changed his stance, preparing to face the closer of the two figures.

This one swept out with an oversized paw, meeting his right wrist. He could see its eyes widen as it encountered strength greater than its own and an unbreakable manacle of steel hidden to its eyes. It snarled, lunging for his neck with open jaws while the other circled around to come after his left leg. He shifted his weight, swinging with his left arm to crash into the side of the first direwolf’s face with a sickening crunch, sending it to the ground a dozen meters away, insensate. He raised his left leg out of range of the second before bringing it down as that direwolf’s head came into kicking range, sending it flying into the fountain at the center of the square. That one rose slowly and shakily out of the stagnant water, growling at him.

“Enough!”

The large female moved between them, snapping at the wolf in the fountain. He could only assume it retreated behind her large frame. Her eyes were now focused entirely on him, aware that Ivana hadn’t moved during that exchange. He equalized his bands again as he stood and folded his arms.

“I have no interest in killing more of you,” his eyes shifted to the corpse on his right, “but I’m not leaving this place until you’re gone, one way or another.”

Her eyes didn’t move. “Death comes for all.”

He sighed, dismissing the fake armor around his body and appearing as he normally would: in a white shirt, sporting a black tie and pants. He physically rolled up his sleeves, putting up his arms to take an upright boxing stance. He was about to distribute a bit to density to drastically increase his weight when the large wolf roared wordlessly. Every wolf around her rose as one, and they all attacked at a frantic pace, the leader running just a couple of paces behind.

Great.

Illusions sprung up around him, multiple copies of Alexander appearing ready to fight. Then, he dumped half of his density into speed. Light as a feather, he and his illusions danced from foot to foot as the wolves crashed into them, fangs falling through air as he passed them in a blur. Pulling a little more from density into sensation, he could track the large female’s eyes as they followed him… just a hair too slow. He jumped, rising far above her… and then dumped all of his speed, half into density and half into strength. His legs crashed down into her skull with several tons of force, his newly strengthened muscles the sole means by which his body didn’t collapse under the force. If not for his already enhanced body, his bones would have cracked under the pressure. The wolf wasn’t so lucky, as her skull collapsed inward in an instant.

Everything stopped. The other wolves looked around at him, their shock evident in their inhuman faces as he rose, body covered in gore that he let appear layered on the illusion. He raised his fists again, allowing his manacles to return to normal before putting a small amount of density into speed. No, they wouldn’t just leave.

“Like she said: ‘death comes for all.’ So come get it.”

The stampede of paws striking earth drowned out those last few words. And through it all, Ivana stood impassively, even as a bloody, gaping hole opened in her chest as if from some unseen attack, coloring her white dress a deep crimson.

[Peaks of Morale]

The Verdant Wilds were the largest woods found so far in the Dark Continent. Mary estimated that these virgin woods spanned across over three million uninterrupted square miles of land, using the information from the past few years of exploration. She herself had no way of knowing for sure if any of it was accurate. Though she was technically a Hunter herself, she was an analyst who knew more about the continent that she’d ever experienced. She knew the theory of what was safe to eat, how to navigate, and what the fauna was like, but it was all from processing the data gathered by boots on the ground.

She’d finally gathered the courage to see the continent for herself. And it change everything.

Most of the hunters who explored the Verdant Wilds only saw a small fraction of its outskirts, yet that subsection of forest held everything found in the most dangerous unpopulated regions of Aissax and more. Thousands of unique species of plants, thousands more foreign insects, birds, and small mammals. More were discovered and studied every day. Then there were the megafauna—huge animals that towered over buildings wandered through bushes that swallowed them up like the sea. Cartographers sketched massive trees with trunks so thick, the diameter exceeded the size of a whole town.

The local Lodge specialized in treading through this explored section of the woods, clearing it out of all the amazing resources. Herbs, medicines, and especially wood. The wood quality was incredible. The houses built with it could withstand the fiercest storms and were easy to work with. Most of it was bought up by merchants and brought to the coast to make ships, since vessels that could safely brave the long commute between the Dark Continent and Aissax were always in demand.

Most of the information about the depths of the Verdant Wilds were recorded by Atlas Winthrop, a name Mary had only ever read in reports or heard stories of his exploits. The legendary Grand Hunter went beyond the safe nearby territory to map out more of the Wilds and inspire others to do the same. Monsters and a dangerous environment made progress slow and difficult, but as he was quoted saying, he didn’t do his job because it was easy.

He was often gone for months at a time before returning with new rewards that every merchant and nobleman with a collecting fetish would pay through the nose to get their hands out. Atlas had been exploring the Verdant Wilds exclusively ever since the nearby settlements first started popping up in the region. He was the reason any of this was possible, carving the path forward. It was one of his early finds spawned the story that brought Mary out here.

There was massive white stag out there with massive antlers, antlers that could create a panacea. An all purpose cure that could eradicate any ailment. She dedicated years to research to identify and find this creature so she could hunt it down, if even the slimmest possibility of finding a cure for her mother existed, she had to take it. Her mother didn’t have long now, her brother had given up hope, and she was desperate. This gamble had to work.

So she’d gone with the loggers to gather more wood. That was the condition she had to fulfill in order to get the aide of these other Hunters. First, they would help clear out the area and transport the lumber back to the settlement. Then they would be allowed to pursue their own goals afterward.

“I told you it was too easy. This place always has a new trick to throw at you if you let your guard down.”

Marcellus’s lecturing voice rang through the woods as he stood over Mary’s fallen form. Mary was curled up, holding a hand to her mouth to keep herself from yelling. Marcellus had the blade of his massive sword shoved deep into the chest of the writhing tree monster that had ambushed the young woman. Its spindly, sharp fingers were a single inch from Mary’s throat.

Marcellus brought his boot up and slammed it into the creature’s chest to shove it back on the ground before he brought his blade down to turn it to scattered splinters. Mary allowed herself to inhale again, pushing herself onto her feet. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment over how poorly she’d handled the attack, but Kevin patted her should encouragingly.

“Don’t worry about it. Just stay behind us and offer us support. I don’t think anything out here can kill Marcellus with your magic reinforcing him.”

“Except me, when I trip over a root and he has to save me.”

“Except you, the person who’s saved us a dozen times already? Those mushrooms that spewed poisonous fumes on us, that camouflaged big cat that almost ambushed us? You’re keeping us alive and it’s your first time out here. That’s plenty.”

Mary gave the stout hunter a sheepish nod as her gaze lingered on his belt. It was loaded with different tools. The same for his partner, Wexler, his twin besides the fact that his brother was a full five inches taller. The two of them were experienced trappers who fulfilled contracts for specific creatures people in town requested. Louise was a rare marksman who carried the newest weapon soldiers and hunters were learning to arm themselves with—a rifle.

One of the Tektōn invented it to help people better combat the many kinds of monsters out there despite being at a physical disadvantage. Mary had been skeptical of the strange tool, but then she’d seen it in action against the orc that had attacked the lumberjacks. The projectile fired from it tore through meat and bone with a thunderous crack in the blink of an eye. It had both speed and power that made Mary want one for herself.

“No shot.” Louise caught Mary looking for what must have been the fifth time and grinned. Her pronounced cheek bones really stood out when she smiled. She brushed her hair back, freeing it of the tangles that somehow appeared every time she fired. “These things are hard to find and harder to maintain. You could pay me to give it up.”

Mary pushed her lips into a pout before sighing. “How did a hunter like you even get your hands on one?”

“A ‘hunter like me’? Come on, give me some credit. I’m pretty good with this thing.”

“I know that, believe me I do. I’d understand if you were a Grand Hunter, but considering how expensive it is…”

“I just happened to know the right people.” She shrugged, a little bit of sympathy creeping into her expression as she looked at Mary. “It’s the only way a woman like me can keep up with a guy like that.”

She pointed to the heavy suit of armor that was Marcellus. The ex-holy knight had carved through several massive, thick roots that blocked their way forward with a single sweep of his sword. His power was insane, and his heavy armor didn’t slow him down at all. Usually, hunters preferred light, practical outfits that could withstand the elements without slowing them down. Armor would just dehydrate you so quickly, monsters just needed to wait for you to drop and eat you out of the can. But a man like Marcellus was different. He was an ex-Holy Knight who’d been in training to become a Templar. Those juggernaut marines were specialized for combat against monsters in any conditions, being able to wear their armor was a necessary prerequisite. Mary didn’t know why Marcellus was no longer a Holy Knight, nor how he failed to become a Templar, but he didn’t need the suped up armor to be this groups best chance of surviving out here.

“We need to keep moving.” Marcellus looked back at the stragglers with impatience radiating from his helmet. Mary couldn’t see his expression, but she could imagine the grimace. “We’re deep enough that we’ll have a hard to navigating our way back. Once we find this deer and take it down, we can’t be sure how long it will take to return.”

“It’s this damn forest.” Kevin sighed. He looked around with a judgmental squint while they all moved to catch up with Marcellus, following his march further into the woods. “The trees are alive. Not just like that monster was. I think there’s something more. It’s creepy.”

“Quite being so superstitious.” Wexler groaned. He stepped over to the fallen tree monster and took out an oddly shaped knife to start carving into its body. “Trees are just alive the normal way.”

“Well, there have been reports about monsters in the area that have been acting strangely. Grouping up, even with those from different species. And one of them is described as a ‘green plant woman’.” Mary shuffled over to Wexler to take a look at what he was doing. She could feel Marcellus’ glare boring into the backs of their heads.

“Oh, please. It’s just a bunch of hunters trying to say they found something unique when they see more than one monster at a time. No one sees a pigeon and dog together and starts saying they’re like people.”

“Well, no. But I don’t think they’re exactly like animals, either. You know-“

Mary’s words were interrupted by the sound of thunder, as loud as the crack that came from Louise’s gun when fired. Mary’s head whipped to the side to look at the woman, just in time to see the hunter raising her gun on total reflex, aimed in her direction.

Wait, her direction?

Confusion mixes in with Mary’s thoughts. She hadn’t shot the gun yet, since she was only lifting it just now. Then what was the noise coming from? The answer came as a white streak that Mary could only just barely make out slipping between the trees are a terrifying speed. She couldn’t even turn her head to follow its movement as some brown mixed into the blur, colliding with Wexler over the tree monster’s body.

Time returned to normal with a loud boom. Mary toppled on her ass, scrambling to process what just happened.

“Damn it! How did it get so close without us noticing?!”

“Grab Mary! We need her!”

Mary felt her collar grabbed by a thick, cold hand that yanked her back roughly. Marcellus placed his huge metal body between her and the new figure. She cried out as she shoved her elbows into the dirt to support herself and sit up, grabbing her focus from her bag. She ignored the pain from stray rock in the dirt digging into her skin, trying to see around Marcellus to identify what came after them.

Her heart immediately dropped.

Wexler was held up high, about ten feet off the ground, back slammed against a massive tree. It was a tree larger than anything seen back home, but its trunk was cracking under the force it had been struck with. Wexler himself was groaning out in pain. How many bones did he break? Was it a miracle he was even alive?

The creature holding the hunter aloft was a huge…person? No. It took Mary a second to look down and see that the muscular human-like torso descended into a white furred body, hooves shattering the rocks beneath and the fluffy little tail swaying back and forth as if it were amused. The creature’s hand gripped Wexler by the throat and pinned him to the tree, as if his weight were nothing. The monster’s face carried with it a mocking smile as it observed Wexler’s futile flailing before turning to look down at the tree monster that he’d been carving up.

There was sympathy on its face. Its mouth moved and it said something, something none of the humans could understand. The words were musical and light, like the wind dancing through a forest and playing with the leaves. It had a somber, melancholic feeling to its tone.

It could speak. Not their language, but it could speak, offering respect to the dead.

White fur, deer body, massive antlers sitting atop its head.

It couldn’t be.

“Don’t hit Wexler!” Kevin roared out as he pulled out metal wires from his back. They began folding over each other and formed wire cages in an instant, as well as coiling into other kinds of traps. Louise clicks her tongue as she aims her gun at the monster carefully, surveying its body for a weak spot to place her shot.

“Mary, reinforce my legs. Then help Louise with her accuracy.” Marcellus breathed the order calmly and sternly. When he didn’t get an answer, he repeated it louder. “Mary! Reinforce my legs, then Louise’s accuracy! It’s time to get your shit together!”

Mary jumped a bit at the shout, pushing herself to her feet.

“W-Wait! That’s the deer! The one we’re here for!” She wasn’t sure why she said it like an objection. “It came to save the monster we killed, I think! I don’t know-“

“Mary, reinforce, DAMN IT! You need to keep us alive! I’m not dying just because you’re too dumb to focus!”

Mary’s mouth flaps wordlessly for a moment. The deer monster was speaking again, saying something to Wexler, not that he could understand. But its tone was unmistakably mocking, and something about its presence made her knees quake.

She was deadweight to her companions. She could see them thinking it when they shot glares in her direction. If she didn’t do something soon, they might be tempted to abandon her, or worse, use her as a meat shield. And that terrified her even more.

Those thoughts bred a new one in her mind. She couldn’t trust these hunters, but she needed to survive, no matter what. Whatever it took. She had people counting on her, people waiting for her to return. If they were tempted to abandon her, she needed to give into the temptation first.

[Scavengers]

“Wine, Sir?”

Amadeo stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused. The sounds of those speaking at his table seemed to run together in a low hum of inconsequential noise. They flapped their mouths, offering little more than platitudes and bribes, just like everyone else. Three mafia families ran this city, but you wouldn’t know the difference sitting at any of their tables. Amadeo couldn’t even be bothered to remember their names, they all ran together so well.

”Wine, Sir?”

And yet a fly continued to buzz in his ear, this time a little louder. Amadeo looked at the young woman out of the corner of his eye, an inconsequential server at this establishment and likely a member of the mob family herself, a flunky given a minor role in a perfunctory meeting meant to butter him up and, to the best of their ability, keep the peace. As the sole Saboath who had taken up semi-permanent residence in this city, they felt the need to do this every so often.

Her mouth was about to start flapping again until he suddenly thrust his glass toward her. Alcohol didn’t interest him, but sometimes he enjoyed watching the deep red of it slosh against the sides of the glass… and it was a white wine. Of course. He’d have to settle for watching the slowly spreading blood from the very rare steak on the plate before him, which had long-since gone cold from lack of attention. He cut into it again, finding a small thrill as the rush of red comingled with the greasy sheen.

And, of course, there was more to this meeting as well. A few recent bloody deaths had set off a minor turf war. Over various periods of time, a secular police force had tried and failed to enforce the law, but each attempt was abortive. Still, these families – as well as the various weaker families that attempted to ride their coattails – were absolutely incapable of managing the peace between themselves. So, they established a ruling council that codified the laws and doled out punishments, but their enforcers largely only being capable of doing the latter, often with extreme prejudice. That didn’t work so well with ongoing drama, so, despite its autonomous status, Moncalieri relied on the Church as a means of filling in the gaps. Who better than the resident Saboath for that?

Chatter arose from his right side, and Amadeo shifted his gaze. The gentleman to his right was a high ranking member of one of the families bearing a pasted-on smile as he awaited a response to some question he’d directed to Amadeo. His name wasn’t important enough to recall, but Amadeo recognized him from past meetings, and clearly he knew Amadeo well enough to ask the question again.

“Do you drink much wine, De Luca? I assure you that this is a fine vintage.”

…though apparently not well enough to know what questions were worth asking. Amadeo sighed and turned his head toward him. Though he had little reason to fear the mob, he had been sent here specifically for the Church’s purposes, and that meant not rocking the boat where it was unnecessary. That being said, he suddenly felt crushingly tired of all this vapid banter.

“Whatever ‘vintage’ it is, it looks the same in the glass: transparent.” His voice was even and unemotional, though even he could recognize the absence of annoyance that he should have felt. “For once, could you people just get to the point?”

The man cleared his throat. “The Church has promised to send investigators to-“

“Investigator. One. Me.”

That seemed to catch him off-guard. “I thought they would send a lower level functionary, or-“

“They might have. I took it over.”

“…then should I assume that you have seen-“

“I’m aware of the three murders. I was the first to arrive at one of them.”

The noise in the room got quieter. Yes, despite all the prattle going on around the table, they hung on his every word. There may not have been a police report on these murders, but the families each had their own informants. They were unaware that Amadeo was at any of the scenes.

“R-really? I wasn’t made aware of-”

“Alley near the corner of Market and Fifth. Quite the colorful scene, unusual outside of the Dark Continent these days, though this was caused by a human. Seemed to… delight in causing a great deal of pain before he died. Committed in broad daylight, no less. Strange that I was the first to find it.”

Yes, the boiling cloud of words around them had reduced to a simmer. They were keeping still up appearances with quiet small talk, but it was a weak facade. The man he spoke to had broken out in a cold sweat, any words he had catching in his throat. Yes, that was another reason he was here. Saboaths had spent various lengths of time in this city before, some even staying for longer durations and largely letting the various mob families dote on them. Amadeo had always been different. To strike the fear of God into these heathens, he needed to make sure they felt his blade at their throats.

“Yes, if nothing else the smell of all that viscera should have attracted onlookers, and I’m certain that whoever walked away from it must have been absolutely steeped in rusty red.”

“And what color were you wearing?”

Amadeo’s eyes flitted toward the woman placed directly opposite him. One of the heads of this family, he knew, though names escaped him. This one might be worth knowing. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“You’ve placed yourself at the scene. Seems someone should have seen you.”

Amadeo flashed a cold grin. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if someone had.”

The room was dead quiet now.

What is the point of doing all this?

Amadeo barely suppressed a sigh. Into the silence strode his angel, Azazel. The others couldn’t hear him, but to Amadeo, he was clear as a bell. So, he answered him.

“If you give me a moment, I was telling them about the target I killed.”

Chairs scraped on the hardwood floor and weapons were raised. The woman on the other side of the table jumped to her feet and slammed her hands down. A cacophony of accusations and threats were hurled at him. He could feel a slight stirring as the cloak around his shoulders began to stir, but he hushed it.

Seems to be working flawlessly.

Amadeo sighed out loud this time. He had intended to drag this out further, but it was easy to forget that Azazel wasn’t another person in the room with him. He should have just stayed quiet. The woman across the table slowly got the roar of voices in the room to calm, though no one lowered their weapons. When she spoke next, there was a growl behind her words.

“You have 10 seconds to explain yourself.”

Amadeo pursed his lips. “I’ve been told not to kill anyone here unless provoked. Would you all care to test the limits of that order?”

Hesitation. Several weapons were half-lowered, and many shook with uncertainty. It was generally true that Amadeo wasn’t allowed to use his abilities on anyone outside of the Dark Continent and targets he was specifically assigned, but he couldn’t help it if someone else threatened him. After all, it would be a waste of good suffering to let sinners who threaten a Saboath slither away unscathed. That didn’t seem to faze their leader, however. She kept her eyes locked on him and raised a hand.

Just tell them already. We don’t have time for this.

He sighed, lamenting the loss of such a sanguine opportunity as this all for the sake of keeping a barely holding peace.

“The target was the murderer.”

Before anyone could react, he reached into his cloak and tossed out a scrap of paper that coasted across the table. On it was a picture of a young man.

“This was the target. He hails from a lesser family, one who was part of an undercurrent in this city aiming to incite far more than this piddling turf war you have been engaged in so far. He told such secrets to me before I ended his life, some of which I wasn’t expecting. After all, how would he or anyone else in this little scheme know where the targets would be?”

Eyes flitted amongst themselves. At least they could take a hint, though it took them long enough. They had also made this a waste of time. The target would only give him a codename, something he said they only used between them. Giving it now would only tip off the person they need to find.

That picture, on the other hand… yes, that might be useful. Amadeo seemed to slip through the crowd as the shouts and accusations began, snaking his way to a man who was drawing quite a bit more attention. Rather than simply dragging him out, Amadeo snaked a portion of his Mantle through the trigger guard and pulled. It didn’t hit anyone, but guns were quickly in every hand and the target of their ire shifted to the unlucky gunman. Amadeo then wrapped an arm around the man he had targeted, a stupefied look on his face, before Amadeo whispered something into his ear and the man went white. He allowed himself to be corralled out the door just as other shots started ringing out inside.

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Alexander sat in a grand hall. He’d returned from Constance a short while ago, traveling to the closest church. The Blood of the Forge hadn’t fully abandoned the city, though there were some who believed that this place was only used to house the precious items that would have been lost at the cathedral. Sitting here now, even as a man of faith himself, it was difficult to see this place as anything but a gaudy display of crystal. It festooned everything from the cornices to the windows to the tablecloths and was even built into the silverware and plates. His right eye twitched at the sight of it all.

The woman on the other side of the table, a priest herself of some slight renown, was clearly not well versed in meeting with a Saboath, but the sweat and uneasy expression had little to do with who he was. She was all too aware of where his attention was focused.

“I know it’s all a bit much, but-”

“I don’t need platitudes. We could have sold all of this and ensured proper support for those left in Constance multiple times over.”

She looked away, her expression sheepish. Alexander sighed.

“Cora, I don’t mean to blame you for this. You didn’t make the decision to bring it all here.”

She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “We are much too small for all this…”

“I will speak with a bishop on my next trip to a city and arrange for transferring some of it.”

That seemed to perk her up a bit, but did nothing for his mood. The Church had abandoned the city and placed her here as a way to keep up appearances. Cora did a fine job, regularly visiting the fallen city, holding services, and even bringing supplies when she could get ahold of them, but they gave her far too few acolytes and her other resources were minimal, making her role largely ceremonial. Cora was here to give the Church presence in this dismal scene.

And he was here to do more.

His eyes flicked towards the knives and silverware, all of which had been polished to a sheen. He carefully covered the plate with a napkin and turned the knife so that it was edge up. It was… a habit of his. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Cora’s expression soured as she spoke again. “I know you had asked for more information regarding the number of residents in Constance and…” she gulped, “a running toll on them from recent attacks, but I regret that I cannot provide more than the estimates you already have. We’ve lost two people ourselves and can no longer take the risks required to obtain that information.”

No surprise there. “Even with my limited time inside, I can provide updated estimates.”

Another wave of relief washed over her. She had been surprised when he had shown up apparently uninjured and spotless despite his fight with so many direwolves. Uninjured though he was, a change of clothes and a bath wouldn’t be amiss at this point, though she could only see his illusion. He glanced around, seeing small reflections in the crystal that made him itch. The figure behind him, ever present in his travels, stood motionless and unchanging. Unnerving as that could be, it was almost comforting to see her like that… or, at least, better than the alternative.

Was… was Cora squirming in her seat? She initially avoided his gaze.

“I-I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been dying to meet you. When I was told that you were on your way to Constance, I went through the whole cycle of emotions from nervous to excited to nervous excitement, and…” she stopped, looking over at him. “I’m rambling.”

Alexander smiled, gesturing in an open manner. “Please, continue.”

She smiled nervously, then everything just seemed to tumble out of her. “I know the nature of your powers are kept secret for security purposes, but the angels that are compatible with each of the Saboaths are a point of much discussion within the Church! No one has a clear idea of why certain angels chose these connections while others refused. Zadkiel might seem like the more obvious choice, being the Angel of Mercy and Charity, but other angels that embody similar concepts like Sachiel and Jegudiel, and neither has an associated Saboath, so-” She cut off abruptly, looking up and into his eyes that she had been judiciously avoiding “would you mind… telling me about Zadkiel?”

Alexander started evasively. “I’m still new to the blessing and there’s more than enough contained in the Archives to cover it.”

“I understand that, but most of that information came from Saboaths in their chrysalis form. At that point, the angel themselves is doing much of the talking. I’m… asking because I want your perspective.”

Alexander took a moment to consider. He’d been asked about himself and Zadkiel before, having been through multiple interviews after receiving his blessing, as well as a number of regular follow-up meetings with Church officials, to which all Saboaths were subject. Many of those officials had been close to the previous Saboath as well, and in general, speaking with the upper echelons of the Church about these subjects bore a sense of normalcy. Speaking with other Church members about it wasn’t unheard of, but it was often done with an implied distance between them. Saboaths, after all, were representatives of both the Church and the messengers of God themselves. Still, other Saboaths had even conducted sermons, speaking for or with their Angels to the masses. This couldn’t hurt.

“I assume you’re aware that I was recruited after the death of the previous Saboath?”

Cora’s gaze immediately switched to the illusion of the woman behind him. Her eyes lingered as if it was difficult to pull them away, but moments later her attention was back on him, nodding. Though Alexander pointedly refused to glance back at her out of the corner of his eye, though it was nearly impossible not to catch glimpses of her reflections in the myriad of crystal surrounding them. She was stock still, staring at nothing.

“That was Bishop Soleil. I worked in his ministry and trained under him to become the next Saboath. Training began roughly a year after he became the Saboath following the death of Rashida.” Alexander gestured slightly toward the figure behind him. Still, no movement. “I was supposed to receive training for a minimum of three years, but Bishop Soleil’s death cut that down to one. Still, over that time, I learned a great deal about the Angel Zadkiel, both from the Bishop himself and from my training.”

She seemed to be leaning forward more and more with each word. He feared the chair would tilt with her.

“I cannot provide any information on how I received the blessing, or discuss how it felt to receive it. The result is that I retain a continuous presence in the back of my mind, as the Angel Zadkiel experiences my sensations with me and experiences his own, many of which are beyond my meager understanding to this day. Even my understanding of the blessing remains meager, though I’ve been told that comprehension comes with time.”

He stopped. Cora stared at him, clearly anticipating more. When he didn’t oblige, she sat back, and though she tried to cover for it, her frustration was apparent.

“Not enough?”

She pouted. “Too impersonal. What is Angel Zadkiel like? What have you spoken about?”

Alexander frowned, initially unsure how to respond. “We haven’t spoken.”

That seemed to surprise Cora. “That’s strange.”

“Not entirely. I’ve been told that Angel Zadkiel has been slow to warm to those he has chosen. Bishop Soleil said he hadn’t conversed with him, either.”

“Maybe he communicates with you in other ways…”

Alexander considered that. “Have you been aware of circumstances like that with other Saboaths?”

“I had always just assumed that each Angel influenced their Saboath in some way.”

He paused. “I can’t-”

He stopped short, his eyes locking on one piece of crystal. For a moment, he could have sworn that the figure behind him had a hand up to her face, finger raised. He hadn’t noticed it in any of her other reflections, and even now when he focused on this piece of crystal, he saw nothing of note. He had seen enough changes in her appearance to know to expect some differences, but… this was different, almost as though it existed solely for him.

Alexander coughed to cover his lapse. “I can’t say. I’m still relatively new to the role, perhaps that will happen more as time goes on.”

Cora nodded. “I suppose that’s likely. I do have to ask about… her, though.”

She gestured toward Rashida’s illusion. Before he could respond, she addressed his thoughts “I know you can’t tell me anything specific about your powers or how they work, but, well… can you tell me anything? As far as I know, previous Saboaths of Zadkiel weren’t trailed by former Saboaths.”

She was right. He sighed. “Yes, mine is a… unique circumstance.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “‘Unique’?”

Alexander looked towards the crystal again to get a glimpse of Rashida. She hadn’t moved. “She is an extension of my ability in some way, one we know little about. I cannot control her.”

“Does she speak to you?”

More often than you know, he thought, certainly more often than he could tell her. “She has spoken before, but it is unclear if she is speaking to me. Most of what she says is-”

His eyes flashed upward. In every piece of crystal, the illusion was staring back at him. Not at where he was sitting, but rather simultaneously appearing in every piece of crystal in such a way that all their reflections seemed to be looking back at him, their expressions all accusatory. His mouth went dry. Cora seemed to be waiting with baited breath. He coughed again to cover, though this time it set off a fit of coughing that he could barely get under control.

“...w-what she says is not intelligible.”

She seemed concerned now. “Alexander… are you alright? We don’t have to talk about this if-”

That was the last word he heard from her as a cacophony of noise assaulted him, some in the voice he recognized as hers, but there was a variety of other voices as well, all in different tones and volumes, some a whisper and some screaming, some soft and others harsh. He could barely make out any words in the clamor. Desperate to shut it out, slammed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands, but the noise poured through unabated, as if the sounds were resonating within his head.

He couldn’t say how long it had been when the sound suddenly cut off. He opened an eye stinging with tears to see Cora had walked around and was repeating something, though it took him a moment and a surprising amount of effort to move his hands off his ears to hear it.

“-n you hear me?”

He raised a hand in an attempt to assuage her concerns. Opening his eyes fully, he turned and looked at Rashida’s illusion, but it still stood there motionless, and he could only guess from Cora’s response to him that she hadn’t heard any of the sounds he had. That sent a chill down his spine. It must look like he was going mad.

“I’m… I’m alright, Cora.”

The troubled expression on her face said that the words accomplished little. She put a hand on the back of his chair and stayed at eye level with him.

“You’re staying here tonight. We can have one of our medics look-”

He interrupted, suddenly exhausted and feeling a need to isolate himself. “I will accept both gratefully, though please leave me for some time before sending someone in. I need… I need to rest.”