Before either of his companions could respond, their wrist devices chimed. A holographic scoreboard appeared, showing their names and a tally of points.

"It seems we've earned our keep for the day," Ordeon said, studying the display. "But tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow, we hunt," Zellrid finished, his voice grim. He cast his gaze across the chaotic landscape, taking in the snow-capped peaks, the steaming jungle, the smoldering volcano. "We find those fragments, and we get the hell out of here."

As night fell, they made camp at the edge of the wheat field, using sheaves of grain to fashion crude bedding and some underwear. The chimera's corpse provided meat, though all three grimaced at the taste.

"You know," Aerovind mused as they huddled around a small fire, "I once attended a banquet where the main course was kraken tentacles in demon blood sauce. I'd give my left arm for a plate right now."

Ordeon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Your stories grow more outlandish by the day, my friend."

"Oh? And what culinary delights did you enjoy in your days as the king's spy, oh large one?" Aerovind shot back.

Ordeon's face darkened. "Nothing I care to remember," he said softly. "Some costs are too high, even for a king's favor."

A heavy silence fell over the group. Zellrid stared into the flames, his mind wandering to Lyra, to Umbra, to all they had left behind.

"We should rest," he said at last, his voice rough with fatigue. "Tomorrow will test us in ways we can't imagine."

As they settled in for the night, Aerovind's voice drifted through the darkness. "Hey, Z? You never did tell me how you got your nickname, ’ the hollow slayer’."

Zellrid grunted. "Another time, perhaps. When we're not fighting for our lives in a sadistic game of death."

"Fair enough," Aerovind chuckled. "But when we get out of here, drinks are on you, and I expect the full story."

"If we get out of here," Ordeon questioned.

"When," Zellrid corrected, his voice hard with determination. "We will survive this. We will return home. No matter the cost."

As sleep claimed them, the volcano in the distance rumbled. In the jungle, something large crashed through the underbrush. And high above, on the snowy peak, a pair of gleaming eyes watched their camp with predatory interest.

***********************

The moon bled purple, its sickly light seeping through the canopy of twisted trees. Zellrid's lone eye snapped open, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Beside him, Ordeon's huge body twitched, caught in the throes of a nightmare. Aerovind lay motionless, his usual smirk replaced by a frown.

A twig snapped.

Zellrid's muscles tensed. He caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows, a flash of intricate tattoos writhing on dark skin.

"Wake up," he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aerovind's eyes flew open, alert and calculating. "Trouble?"

Before Zellrid could respond, a voice cut through the night, guttural and filled with malice. "The purple moon hungers, outsiders. Your flesh will sate its appetite."

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Figures melted out of the darkness, their bodies adorned with living tattoos that pulsed in the eerie light. Their chief, a mountain of scar tissue and bulging muscle, bared teeth filed to points.

"Hi" Aerovind drawled, sitting up with deliberate casualness. "Looks like you found us, care to uh…. Invite us to a tea party?"

The tattooed warrior's eyes narrowed. "You mock us? Your tongues will make fine trophies."

Ordeon stirred, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Friends, perhaps we could-"

A whistling sound cut him off. Aerovind's hand shot out, plucking a dart from the air inches from Zellrid's neck. He examined it, his expression darkening. "Poison. How unc–."

Three more darts found their marks. Ordeon grunted in pain, while Zellrid cursed, his body going rigid.

“Son of BI–.”

Aerovind felt a sting in his shoulder, but the familiar warmth of the poison spreading through his veins never came. He allowed his body to go slack, mind racing. Play along.

The tattooed warriors closed in, rough hands grabbing at limp limbs. As they were hauled onto the backs of shaggy beasts, Aerovind caught Zellrid's eye. A silent message passed between them.

Survive. Plan. Revenge.

The procession wound through landscapes that defied reason - black sand beaches giving way to steaming jungles, then abruptly transitioning to snow-capped peaks. The sudden cold bit into their skin, and Aerovind noticed their captors flinching away from icy patches.

Hours passed before they stopped near a ridge, revealing a village that reeked of death. Impaled corpses lined the perimeter, their faces frozen in eternal screams. Around great bonfires, figures danced with inhuman frenzy.

As they were dumped unceremoniously into a crude pen, the tattooed leader leaned in close, his breath hot and fetid. "Rest well, morsels. Tomorrow, you feed the flames."

Aerovind's eyes glittered in the firelight. "Looking forward to it, darling. I do love a good barbecue."

The warrior backhanded him, splitting his lip. Aerovind spat blood, his grin never faltering. "Feisty. I like that in a man."

Left alone, Aerovind sat up, stretching languidly. "Right then, gentlemen. Who's ready for a little fun?"

Zellrid, still partially paralyzed, growled, "your sense of humor started to get annoying, take this seriously, you’ll get us killed."

"Oh ye of little faith," Aerovind chuckled, a dark edge to his voice. "These fine folks have just volunteered to provide us with everything we need. Weapons, supplies, a base of operations. We just need to... evict the current tenants."

Realization dawned on Zellrid's face. "You mean to slaughter them all."

"Every last one," Aerovind confirmed, "They've invited us to dinner. It would be rude not to return the favor."

Ordeon, finally able to move his head, looked troubled. "Surely there must be another way?"

Aerovind's eyes hardened. "Look around, does this look like the work of reasonable people, my friend? Sometimes, the only language understood is that of violence."

As feeling returned to their limbs, Aerovind outlined his plan. It was brutal, efficient, and tinged with a manic glee that sent shivers down even Zellrid's spine.

5 Minutes passed

Aerovind stood at the edge of the crude pen, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. He turned to his companions, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Time to begin," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zellrid grunted, his single eye narrowed. "Remember why we're here, Aerovind. This isn't for pleasure."

"Of course not," Aerovind replied, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his words.

With fluid grace, Aerovind vaulted over the pen's fence.

“It won't hurt trying new weapons besides the one I have.”

He made his way to a rack of weapons, his fingers dancing over blades and clubs before settling on a long, curved sword. The metal sang as he drew it from its sheath.

"Now," he murmured, "let's make history."

Ordeon hefted a war hammer, his face a mask of grim determination. "May the gods forgive us," he said, guilt clinging to his tone.

As if summoned by his words, a scream pierced the night. A young warrior had spotted them, his eyes wide with terror. "Intruders!" he cried. "To arms! To-"

Aerovind moved with startling speed. His blade flashed in the moonlight, meeting the youth's neck with a sickening thud. For a moment, the young man stood frozen, a look of disbelief on his face. Then, a thin red line appeared across his throat, widening rapidly as blood poured forth. He crumpled to the ground, hands clutching futilely at his ruined neck.