Scourge of Heaven and Hell

The Vanguard trudged through the forest, the low-lying mist welcoming their boots into the damp earth. Aric rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his body still tense from the cave encounter. He kept looking over his shoulder from time to time, trying to piece together how he found himself in the forest when the last thing he remembered was wrapping the child's corpse in the cloak.

Ahead, where they had left the horses, figures moved about.

Garrick lifted a fist, signaling them to halt. In an instant, weapons were drawn and arrows were nocked into bows.

Some Reapers stood among the horses, armed but not for a fight. They were a rough-looking bunch; leather-clad, battle-worn, and staring like a hawk eyes it's prey. The leader stood apart from his men, a cocky and relaxed stance. He was fully bearded, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark auburn hair tied loosely at the back of his neck. In his hand, he held an apple, taking lazy bites.

He swallowed his latest bite, then smiled.

"Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in."

He gestured to his group with the half-eaten fruit, chewing with leisure. His men chuckled slightly, equally feasting, some exchanging glances.

Garrick wasn't amused. Reapers, the last thing he wanted tonight. Vultures who acted like kings. "Step away from the horses." His voice was a low growl.

The man smirked even more. "No need for all that hostility." He lifted his free hand in feigned surrender, the other still holding the fruit. "We were just wondering when you lot would show up."

Caden muttered under his breath, eyeing the Reapers around him. Aric felt his own patience dwindling but he didn't lower his blade. These ill-mannered hunters saw everything as prey.

The man looked around in an exaggerated show. "Everyone's so tense. You'd think we were enemies." He took another bite. "Am I right, lads?"

A loud peal of laughter followed.

Aric's fingers twitched his sword's hilt. He didn't like this. The Reapers weren't exactly enemies, but they weren't considered allies either. He hates the way the laughed and treated this like some game. To him, there was nothing funny about tonight.

The man gestured towards the horses. "You're welcome, by the way. My men and I were kind enough to keep these fine beasts safe from the, shall we say, less friendly inhabitants of the forest."

Garrick gritted his jaw. "Oh, is that what you were doing?"

The Reaper grinned. "What else would we be doing?"

"Stealing," Finn retorted.

The man clutched his chest, feigning pain and surprise. "Stealing? Me? You wound me." He took another bite. "Name's Ragan. And I'd at least like to hear a 'thank you' for my troubles."

Garrick exhaled sharply, unmoved. He had dealt with men like this before, men who thought control was the same as power. "Thank you. Now get moving."

Ragan scowled. "See, that's just rude." His eyes sized up Garrick. "Didn't even tell me your name."

Garrick said nothing, their eyes locked on each other.

Ragan sighed dramatically. "Alright, no name. That's fine. But about this little favor I did for you—seems only fair I get something in return."

His men murmured in agreement.

Garrick scoffed. "The horses were safe before you showed up."

Ragan shrugged. "Safe because we showed up."

Garrick's grip on his sword remained steady. "Whatever payment you wanted, you've already taken in supplies."

Ragan raised a brow and held up the fruit. "This?" He waved it, smiling. "Oh no, we were just passing the time."

Nessa noticed Aric's tense expression, he looked like he was about five seconds away from running someone through.

Ragan clicked his tongue. "Even if we had eaten our payment, you still owe for something else."

Garrick didn't so much as blink. "And what's that?"

Ragan wiped the juice from his thumb on his coat and smirked. "Stepping foot on our land."

The air froze with tension.

Garrick took a step forward. He knew this game. Call a place yours , demand a toll, test the waters. "Yrengoth belongs to no one."

"Well," Ragan intoned, "it belongs to whoever's standing on it with weapons drawn."

Garrick remained unmoved. "We only come here to hunt demons. Dunmore is aware of your lot, and it doesn't see you as a threat. Let's keep it that way."

Ragan put a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. "You make it sound like we're dangerous men." His reached into his pocket and brought out another apple. "Don't make killing demons sound like a big deal. For us, it's just a coming-of-age rite."

Ragan took another bite, chewing slowly before continuing. "Now, about that compensation..."

Garrick cut him off, his voice carrying an edge. "The only payment you get is walking away alive."

For a moment, it seemed as if the forest itself became still for the impending confrontation.

Aric wanted Ragan to make a move. Just one. Just enough to justify drawing blood.

Then Ragan's grin faded. "That so?" He exchanged glances with some of his men. "You know you're outnumbered, don't you?"

Garrick didn't even hesitate. "You're welcome to put that to the test."

Something dangerous gleamed in Ragan's eyes. Then, suddenly, he laughed. It was a genuine, belly-deep laugh, like this was all some act. His men followed suit, their laughter echoing through the clearing.

Ragan sighed, shaking his head. "Relax, Captain." He raised his hands. "We're leaving. Just thought we were friends, that's all."

He turned to his men. "Alright, lads, fun's over. Let's not overstay our welcome."

The Reapers grumbled but obeyed, holstering their weapons and walking way into the trees.

As they moved, Ragan waited a step behind, finishing off the last bits of the fruit and tossing it's endocarp to the side. Then, with a smirk, he wiped his hands on his cloth.

"Tell me something, your name, at least?"

Garrick didn't answer.

Ragan hummed. "No? Alright then." He clicked his tongue. "Guess I'll give you one instead." He pointed to the scar across Garrick's forehead. "See you around 'Captain Scar'"

Few of his men chortled in the distance.

Whistling, Ragan nodded and turned away, disappearing into the woods with his men.

Garrick barely waited for the tension to settle. "Mount up."

The command was sharp and no one dared argue, not after all the events of the night.

Within moments, they were all saddled up.

Garrick's voice came again. "We ride through the night."

No one questioned him. No one looked back.

✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓✓

Duvran's thick clawed fingers tapped against the armrest of his black snaggy throne, each dreary thud scraping against the heavy silence in the throne room. His silence carried unspoken rage causing the three deities standing before him to exchange nervous glances.

"Speak, or does your failure render you mute?" he finally growled, his voice radiating over them.

The deities flinched, their once-rigid postures buckling under the force of his burning gaze. They were regarded as gods, but here, before him, they were nothing more than insects before the boot.

One of them stepped forward, gaunt and clad in black armor that complemented his silver skin, swallowing hard with trepidation.

"We have searched every crevice, every abyss, every ruin of this realm, my lord," he said, his voice less steadier than his trembling hands. "The Aetherion is... dormant. It does not wish to be found."

Duvran scrutinized him for a while with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, he leaned forward in his seat.

"You say you scoured the infernal realm thoroughly." His voice was almost a whisper now, and somehow, that was even worse.

The deity nodded impulsively, dots of sweat forming at his brow. "Yes, my lord. We..."

Duvran's fist slammed down on the armrest, shaking dust from the vaulted ceiling. The throne room quaked, the fire in the braziers flaring up.

"Lies!" he roared. "If you had truly combed the depths of my realm, you would not be standing here whole!"

The deities shuddered. One of them, wraith-like with hollow eyes, fell to both knees, shaking with his head bowed.

Duvran's eyes burned with eons of rage and unforgiveness. "Dain was not lucky enough to leave this realm after attempting to open that Obsidian Rift. His failure sealed his fate. And the Aetherion?" His lips curled, barely forming a smile. "It is here. In this realm. If you had searched as thoroughly as you claim, you'd have found it, or at the very least, suffered for your efforts."

The silver-skinned deity opened his mouth to object but hesitated. What argument could he possibly offer against the wrath of Duvran?

A deep, guttural roar broke the tense silence, causing the room to vibrate as the sound bounced off the marble pillars and the veins of molten earth on the walls. The towering throne room doors groaned open, its majestic infernal slabs grinding against the floor.

A beast stalked into the chamber, its jagged talons ticking against the marble floor. It was black-scaled and the size of war horse, it's leather wings folded against its muscular body and it's large head crowned with two spiral horns.

Upon the saddle on its back sat Macha; Scourge of Heaven and Hell, daughter of War and Death. She had one gloved hand on the beast's reins and the other resting on her laps, sitting erect and unmoved by the eyes on her. Her three-pronged spear rested in its holster on her back. It's largest tip was an iron-grey blade with engravings and etched-in runes.

She dismounted with a warrior's ease despite the weight of her steel armor, her long tattered cloak sweeping behind her. Strands of violet hairs fell loose over her sharp eyes, adding the final touch to her predatory beauty. She took purposeful strides forward, her beast following her like a shadow.

The deities adjusted and gave way, both out of reverence and instinct. Macha's presence carried something different from Duvran's wrath; something colder and more calculated. Duvran was the storm; she was the blade waiting to be drawn after the passing of the storm.

Duvran's scowl softened, not into warmth, for he was not a god of warmth, but approval.

"Macha," he said, standing from his throne. "My ruthless blade returns."

Macha bowed her head slightly, a smirk forming on her lips. "I live to serve, my lord."

Duvran's turned to the other deities with disgust all over his face. "Leave us. Continue your search. And do not return unless you have something more than excuses to offer." His voice lowered into a deadly snarl. "Or unless you're missing a limb."

They bowed hastily and hurried out of the chamber, the large doors slamming shut behind them with a reverberating thud.

Duvran stepped forward, descending the few steps before him. "You bring word from Eolan?"

Macha nodded. "He has extended the ultimatum. One more year to retrieve and return the Aetherion."

Duvran scoffed. "Generous."

Macha twisted her lips. "Not quite. He will extend it no further. If we fail, he'll come visiting and it will be with swords drawn."

Duvran chuckled. "Ah, yes. Because waging war against us will surely help him retrieve the Aetherion faster."

Macha only shrugged. "His patience wears thin."

"It does not matter," Faleir murmured, appearing out of the shadows behind Duvran's throne. His appearance was silent, as if he had always been there, watching, waiting for his time.

Macha's expression hardened. "It does matter. Unless you have a way to make Dain reveal the Aetherion's location, we should be getting ready for war."

Faleir shook his head. "We won't need Dain."

Macha's brows narrowed. "And why is that?"

Faleir only smiled in response, confident yet unsettling.

Faleir's confidence was never misplaced, he did not gamble, did not speculate. He always spoke in certainties, and that made him the most dangerous mind in the infernal realm.

Duvran studied him for a while, trying to find the riddle buried in that smug look on his face. "Speak, then. If you claim we do not need Dain, I expect more than riddles."

Faleir folded his hands behind his back. "The Aetherion is not lost, merely... out of reach and dormant. But that can change."

Macha eyed him with skepticism. "And if you're wrong?"

Faleir's smirk never faded. "I am never wrong. There's just something that needs to be done first."