Chapter 9

Backlit by the late afternoon sun, Yurlan held up a worn scroll examining it closely. It was hard to tell exactly what the grizzled man was thinking, but he seemed in fairly good spirits today.

Hesko of the red hand society gave the scroll to them, a surprise none of them expected. At the time, Archivauld had thought they were a goner. As it turned out, Hesko hadn't wanted to kill them at all. Despite the help in the form of a scroll and some information, that fateful encounter had thrown them out of the frying pan and into the fire. He still hadn't quite decided if they were better off trying to avoid inquisitors, or traversing this treacherous pass.

With a nod to himself, Yurlan tucked the scroll under his arm and gestured down the pass. 

"Only one more, boys. We should reach the base of the last mountain by tonight. If we push it, we will be able to enter the inner reaches by the end of tomorrow," Yurlan said.

Archivuald took in the valley, bracketed by several enormous mountains, with sheer cliffs on either side. They were making great time.

If Yurlan was right, they should reach the outer edges of the inner expanse in just over two weeks of travel. All it took was one casualty so far. 

Not bad all things considered. Even so, Archivauld was concerned. At this point, he doubted Yurlan would be able to provide the forged documents he promised.

Archivauld couldn't bring himself to be to upset about that. He would be happy to survive the pass and part ways with the bandits. Yurlan seemed like he would try to uphold his end of the bargain, but Archivuald seriously doubted he could even do so. 

Yurlan was well connected, but in the end he was just the leader of a small crew of mountain bandits from the outer band. Archivuald had the distinct impression he was just being dragged along for the healing power of his holy orb.

Not a noble reason, but at least it gave them some incentive to keep him alive.

The descent into the valley was uneventful, aside from the aching in his legs, and the thin air making it hard to catch his breath. 

Thankfully, they were making the journey in the summer, and not the ass end of winter. Trying to traverse this mountain range through ten feet of snow would have been less than optimal..

After several hours of careful navigation, they reached the forest floor, setting up camp next to a babbling brook. Normally they would have killed a monster as offering, but darkness had fallen quicker than expected once they reached the valley floor. 

They hadn't heard hide nor hair of the monster who took Tanur in over four days, even so, Archivauld was still nervous. The group sentiment was that they must have traveled out of its territory. 

As the sun set, Archivauld glanced furtivly back the way they came. Yurlan clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Don't worry Archie, it's not following us anymore," Yurlan assured.

Archivauld frowned. Despite Yurlan's assurances that the unseen monster was behind them, Archivuald was still couldn't relax

This was the second night in a row without leaving a dead monster. Parcival didn't seem too concerned either, but that was probably because he was crazy.

And probably because he was not the first one on watch…. Archivuald had of course drawn the short straw. Just like the past four nights, he was a bundle of nervous tension as he sat with his back to the fire, his eyes constantly roaming the dark treeline. Secrets be damned, if he saw anything suspicious, he was going to activate his divine curse immediately.

His palms were sweaty on the worn haft of his ax, its chipped and worn edge gleaming in the firelight.

The sky was mostly clear overhead, with stars peeking through, the trees rustling in the cool summer breeze. Occasionally, the distant hoot of a mountain Vock or bleating cry of an iron ram could be heard. They had seen a couple of the latter just before setting up camp, though the monsters had been far up on a sheer cliff wall, and seemed uninterested in coming down. 

Not all monsters were as aggressive as the mountain Vock. In fact, some made a habit of avoiding people until pushed into a corner.

Unfortunately for them, that monster that took Tanur was not one such creature. He still didn't even know what kind of monster took and ate him.

Archivauld was so caught up in his own thoughts that he nearly leapt out of his skin when Yurlan put a hand on his shoulder. 

"By the dark gods' hairy balls, you scared the shit out of me," Archivauld swore, his heart racing.

Yurlan laughed softly.

"Sorry, you looked so tense, I just couldn't help myself," Yurlan grinned.

Archivauld took several deep breaths to calm his pounding heart.

"I almost pissed myself," Archivauld grumbled.

Yurlan chuckled, waving a hand towards his tent. 

"Loosen up Archie, the monster who took Tanur is behind us now. Go get some sleep, you look like a mooring line pulled so it's ready to snap," Yurlan said.

Archivuald let out a nervous laugh. 

"You are right.. Well, goodnight Yurlan, I'll see you in the morning," Archivauld said. 

"Night Archie," Yurlan said.

A bit frazzled, he made his way to his tent. All three of their tents were set up in a neat row on the other side of the fire with a large boulder keeping anything from approaching from that direction. 

He climbed in the tent, and settled into his sleeping roll. He exhaled sharply, his heart still racing from Yurlan's practical joke. Well, at least they only had one more day from leaving the pass behind.

Not that the inner reaches were purportedly any safer than the pass. Aside from the few cities and towns, much of the inner reaches were monster infested wastelands. 

Not exactly a comforting thought, but then again, little was these days.

The tent rustled, his eyes drooping as he slowly drifted off to sleep. As he drifted off, he only vaguely noticed the small shadow silently stalking past the tent.

Through the haze of half sleep, he ignored the crouched over shadow as it snuck beside his tent. It was probably just shadows from the fire, no need to be alarmed.

Archivauld awoke with a start, as something heavy settled on his chest. He hardly had time to realize what was happening before a meaty hand covered his mouth and a knife was pressed against his neck. 

Parcival leaned in close, a yellow-toothed grin faintly visible in the dark tent. 

"Ahh… Archie. I have been waiting for this for a while. Our little feud has been fun. Too bad we don't need your expertise anymore. Goodbye," Parcival raised his knife above Archivauld's chest, ready to skewer his heart in one clean thrust. Panic welled in his chest. Archivauld tried to struggle to free himself, but his arms were trapped at his sides, and all of Parcival's weight was pinning him down.

As the knife rose, fear and rage coursed through Archivauld. Just when he thought it was all over, a shout of alarm echoed from outside.

There was a pained yowl, followed by Yurlan crying out.

"Oh shit, it's back!" Parcival swore, leaping off him, rushing out of the tent. Blood pounding in his ears, Archivauld quickly followed.

Scooping up his axe, which he inwardly swore to never leave out of reach again, he pushed aside the tent flap, just in time to catch the end of the brief struggle.

His mind blanked for only a moment, as the firelight illuminated its long furry frame. With only two tails, the large, fox-like creature was fairly small, only reaching his shoulder on all fours. 

The nightingale must have been barely older than a juvenile, given its relatively small size, but it still easily carried a limp Yurlan by the throat.

As both himself, and Parcival rushed from the tent, it glanced back, its pitch black orbs for eyes staring back at them with a deadly gleam.

He only saw it for a brief moment, but that was more than enough to confirm what it was. 

A pervasive gloom had clung to the nightingale, its black fur having an almost oily sheen.

Archivauld hesitated, sharing a glance with Parcival. 

The snake of a man spat to one side.

"You were wrong, Archie, it wasn't a shadow panther," Parcival said.

"Should we try to save him?" Archivauld asked, ignoring the jab.

Parcival shook his head. "No point. He looked dead as a doornail. Didn't you see the way his head was lolling to one side. That god damned monster snapped his neck like a twig," Parcival said.

Archivauld gripped his ax tightly as he glowered at the man.

"So what now?" Archivuald asked.

Parcival shrugged. 

"Only a day or so until we leave this shit hole behind. Hopefully, it will stop following once we leave the pass," Parcival said.

"And if it doesn't?" Archivuald asked.

"I guess we will have to deal with it when it happens," Parcival said.

Archivauld narrowed his eyes on the untrustworthy man. Parcival ignored his glare, and walked towards his tent, as the sickening crunch of bone echoed from the trees.

There would be no sleep tonight, whether because of the shadow panther eating Yurlan, or because Parcival had tried to kill him. He gritted his teeth.

Why couldn't it have been Parcival who was being eaten at the moment? Having Yurlan around would have made things so much simpler. The man might have been a murderous, thieving bandit, but at least he was fair to his crew.

Parcival on the other hand had just tried to kill him, and then pretended like he hadn't. The bastard was now packing up his things, as if preparing to leave.

Archivauld's earlier feelings of helpless rage came washing back like a flood. The rage and stress of the past few weeks, combined the with distant crunches of Yurlan being eaten nearby made him see red.

Before he could change his mind, he was already on the move. Mid unsetting his tent, Parcival must have heard him as he turned just as Archivauld raised his ax high.

The man might have been an asshole, but he was quick. Parcival leapt to the side and rolled, just as Archivauld's ax slammed into the ground.

He swore internally trying to wrench the ax free as Parcival rolled to his feet, drawing a dagger and lunging in.

Agony shot up his side as Parcival's dagger bit into flesh.

Frantically, Archivuald wrenched his axe from the soil, and swung it in a horizontal slash, the swing intent on cutting the other man in half.

Parcival clearly understood that trying to block a battle axe with a dagger was a bad idea. Instead, his body melted into the shadows, his axe finding only air. A moment later, the man reappeared near the crackling fire, grasping his spear, which was leaned up against a log.

Parcival laughed. "That was a good try Archie, you almost had me. How's your side, that looks bad," Parcival said with a taunting grin.

Archivauld hissed in pain, pushing a holy orb into the wound to hopefully stem the bleeding. It felt like maggots were crawling under his skin as his own muscles slowly stitched back together. 

All the while he never took his eyes off his enemy, gripping his ax in one hand.

"You are a rotten bastard. Why don't you do the world a favor and just die already?" Archivuald said..

Parcival laughed, clearly amused.

"You are not a saint either, Archie. Why do you still cling to such sentiments? You are a wanted man, just like me. Your former comrades from the church will burn you at the stake should they catch you," Parcival said.

Archivauld spat to one side.

"So what if I have fallen from grace in the eyes of the holy mother. I'm going to do the world a favor and cut your head from your shoulders," Archivuald said, taking a menacing step forward. 

All pretences were set aside as he advanced, ready to kill. His chest felt like it was suddenly numb from an unseen cold, as he funneled most of his essence into the leftmost eye of the dark god. 

The air warped around him, his breath misting as he advanced. Parcival was confident in his victory, that confidence slowly fading from his face as the camp filled with a bitter chill

The temperature dropped rapidly, the fire hissing madly as it fought back the creeping ice that spread in every direction. 

Dull agony spread throughout Archivuald's body, with loud ripping sounds as his clothes tore as they tried to fit his changing body. The valley went deathly still as a ghastly wail shook the night.

Parcival stared at the annoying healer with wide eyes as his body spasmed, his clothing tearing as he grew. 

Replacing his former frail human body was a monstrous form, tall and lean with corded muscles that looked like they were made of iron cables, the ribs visible. As if in defiance of all convention, two tattoos split his chest, on the left the holy mother on the right, the carved rendition of the dark god.

 Parcival didn't have time to wonder what the hell that was about as Archie's body kept changing.

His hair turned from a dull brown to a mottled silver, his eyes turning a dark azure, radiating a fierce cold that threatened to freeze the world itself.. 

Taking only seconds, the transformation looked incredibly painful, turning Archie into a ghastly attempt at humanity..

It was still humanoid in form, but the rows of dagger teeth in his mouth and the sharp claws on its fingertips, it clearly was Archie no longer.

The pain quickly faded to the back of Archivauld mind as another impression took hold. Hunger.. It wasn't a hunger he felt in his gut, but one he felt to the depths of his very being.

The urge to commit violence was overwhelming, and he saw no need to hold back. Parcival was within reach, and Archivuald had no desire to hold himself back.

 He moved, his lythe frame making his human form seem sluggish in comparison. Gripping the haft of his axe hard enough to gouge the wood, he shot forward, Parcival's eyes widening with alarm. The man's raised spear was batted aside, Archivauld's axe raised in one hand to cut him down.

Ice crept up his blade, the air freezing as he brought his weapon down with all of his might. Unwilling to block the killing blow, Parcival's body melted into the shadows, his form retreating with all due haste.

There was a shower of dirt and ice as Archivauld's ax slammed into the ground, its grip cracking under the force.

Archivuald's frosty gaze followed the cowardly shadow as it fled, his stomach twisting with reluctance.

Unwilling to let Parcival escape, Archivauld ran after him, thick ice already creeping up the nearby trees.

He had no idea what a Nether champion was, but his new form was exhilarating. Leaping forwards with unexpected speed, he shot after Parcival, his long legs eating up the distance.

By the time Parcival re-emerged from the shadows at the treeline was already upon him.. 

Parcival frantically raised his spear, in a two handed grip, catching Archivauld's overhead swing.

There was no finesse, just brute strength, and a lot of rage behind the blow. There was a loud crack of wood, and a shower of splinters as both weapons shattered from the recoil.

In a display of combat awareness, Pacival leapt forward, drawing his knife, rolling between Archivauld's legs. Taller that he was used to, Archivuald failed to react in time. 

He felt blinding pain in his heel as the dagger bit into the back of his leg, making him stagger forward.

Shrieking from pain, Archivauld whirled, raking his claws across the man's face. It was a spur-of-the-moment choice, a frantic gamble to keep the man's dagger from finding his back.

Surprisingly, his claws were incredibly sharp. Skin parted like a hot knife through butter, Parcival's right eye popping with a burst as the claw passed from his forehead, down to his lips.

Parcival screamed, staggering backwards, streams of blood pouring down his face from the horrific wound.

Without any hesitation, Parcival turned and fled. Archivuald tried to follow, pushing to his feet. He was unwilling to let that vile bastard escape, but found himself staggering, falling on his face.

Gritting his teeth from the pain in his side and right ankle, he glanced down at his leg injury which gushed dark ichor.

It was a fairly deep wound, only the muscle, though some of his Achilles tendon must have been cut.

A potentially crippling injury if not healed, or given proper time to recover naturally.. 

He swore as Parcival got further away by the moment. Archivuald didn't have time for this, but couldn't pursue on an injured leg. He conjured a holy orb in his palm, the golden orb lighting up an elongated hand, the razor claws gleaming in the pale golden light.

For some reason, looking at it gave him a sense of revulsion, but he was strapped for time, and needed to hurry if he wanted to catch his prey.

Blinding, horrific agony sprouted from his leg, as the soothing waves of holy essence seared the meat on his leg.

Archivuald screamed, a ghastly wail of pain that echoed around the camp, waves of cold buffeting the area around him. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt.

Writhing in pain, he fell onto his back, his chest heaving as blinding agony shot through his body. The stench of melted flesh wafted to his nose, the pain in his leg taking several long seconds to somewhat fade.

Heaving for air, he looked down. Instead of healing, the holy orb had reacted like fire, cauterizing his wound instead of healing it.

Archivuald forcibly pushed himself to a seated position, his chest heaving.

His ankle stung like it had been dipped in acid, the wound looking like a hot iron had been stabbed into his flesh.

He grimaced, only now noticing that the fire had winked out, hissing as ice continued to blanket the area, turning the camp in a winter landscape. There was no snow, but the tents and firepit were already covered in a thick frost.

Parcival had already disappeared, no doubt running as fast as he could. That was perhaps a good thing. Archivuald had really screwed up. Using his holy orbs was an absolutely moronic idea. 

How could he be so dense? How could an emblem using holy essence heal a creature of the Nether? 

Archivuald had no idea what exactly he had turned into, but he was some kind of monster from the nether. When he activated the curse, the voice had called him a champion of the Nether, whatever that meant.

He groaned, wincing as he tentatively tried to stand. His leg wound stung like the unholy hells, but the cut on his ribs seemed mild. His body was not in a great state.

Strangely, despite most of his clothing having ripped off during the transformation, he realized he didn't feel cold at all. His breath fogged in the night, but strangely, the frigid air felt quite pleasant.

With his battle lust fading, he was able to take the time to look himself over.

He was probably a head and a half taller than before, which put him well above the average human. His frame looked very thin, like a malnourished beggar, and yet, his muscles were like corded iron. 

Before it had shattered, his axe had felt like it weighed almost nothing. Equally as interesting was the fact that his ribs, where Parcival cut him, had already stopped bleeding.

It was a noticeable improvement from his human recovery. Archivauld limped around the disturbingly quiet camp, wincing with each step.

Putting weight on his ankle sent stabbing pain up his leg, but he couldn't sit still. He needed to gather his belongings and leave. The fire was out, and the sky was mostly overcast, with no moon shining down, and yet he could see surprisingly well.

Enough to find Yurlan's discarded axe and rifle through the tents. It was a much nicer ax than his former one, though it wasn't really a two-handed weapon. It was a bearded axe, with a leather bound wooden haft, a capped pommel, and a hook at the back of the blade for counter balance.

A well built and maintained weapon, one that was a good replacement since his other axe had broken. It's not like Yurlan would need it anymore. Speaking of which, he cocked his head to one side, listening intently.

The nightingale had stopped its feasting some time ago during his battle with Parcival, and hadn't made a sound since.. Archivuald took a deep breath of the frigid air through his nose, smelling something on the wind. 

He wasn't sure why, but he could tell it was watching him. He could smell it on the air, its musty odour, of blood and sweat. Archivuald looked towards an ice covered tree across the dark camp, his eyes honing in on a vague shadow.

He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. As if sensing the jig was up, the monster gave up on stealth altogether. It stood and sauntered away, its two tails swishing back and forth as it disappeared into the forest.

That thing was way too stealthy for its own good. It wasn't long before the sounds of crunching bone filled the air once more. Archivauld swore inwardly. The damned thing was toying with him again. It could have attacked, and he would have likely died. But as the records suggested, the Nightingale seemed to prefer tormenting its prey.