D’s shadow danced across the midtown rooftops as he made his way towards the Chief Minister’s manor, their sturdier construction and wooden-slat roofing made for better footing than the generally thatch rooftops in the slums. He took every precaution each time he came across another roadway, checking to make sure it was absolutely clear before leaping across as nothing more than a silhouette in the night.
Now that I’m back in the city, I feel like a hunter again…
D smiled pleasantly at the irony of his situation, taking into account every moving shadow and clink of metal. Trying to forget and move past the pain and horror he just went through… it felt strangely therapeutic to be back on familiar ground.
Still… it seems much too open when compared to the forests… no real cover to help against things that quick and that large…
He shifted uncomfortably as he ran, as a cold shiver danced down his spine.
*Thwoom!*
He nearly stumbled at the thunderous burst of sound and light erupting behind him. He pivoted to cover behind a chimney instinctively, popping his head out just in time to see another large wave of flame burst from the direction of the adventurers’ guild.
“Damn, I think they bit off a bit more than they could chew with that one!” D grinned, then promptly buried it under the guilt that followed.
The guild, the guards aligned with the minister, the bureaucrats and the sailors… seems he is targeting everyone that wasn’t part of his camp. Planned it out, too… ‘cept for the temples and the royal garrison.
D scanned the skyline once more, evaluating the areas with the heaviest signs of fighting against his mental map of Njord.
Seems I guessed right to take midtown to cut into the noble’s district in uptown. If their main force is elsewhere… then this should be a breeze. Why are they doing this, though? What did I miss?
D ground his teeth, perplexed as he returned to his route. He hated how quickly things had turned sour, with hardly any time for him to properly research and gauge the city.
He was greeted by the clash of blades and furious shouts of more street fighting almost directly in line with his route. D quickly looked around then closed his eyes, checking his mental map again.
Damnit, as long as I am quick and quiet… I should be able to slip past it.
He maneuvered across the far-side slopes of the gabled rooves, using the gradient as cover as he tried to pass around the market square.
Inside the square, a squad of the baron’s soldiers had surrounded a guard and couple men, while another had lit a fire in the house behind them.
He gritted his teeth while watching their desperate struggle, cursing under his breath, before pushing on towards a large open courtyard and the main thoroughfare separating Midtown and Uptown.
Just as he was getting ready to drop off the roof, the piercing wail of a young girl tore through the night air. “SAAMM!”
D froze, his eyes locked dead ahead, buffeted as he was by the gut-wrenching cries of a woman and blood-curdling howls of dying men. He closed his eyes for moment, grimacing, and instinctively reaching for his talisman.
When he opened them again, he found himself staring off into the smoke-wrapped rays of light from the moon.
“Fuck me.” It’s one thing to pass by something you can’t see, but to ignore it right in front of my eyes… I wouldn’t be human anymore, would I?
**
D inhaled deeply, pivoting into a sprint back up the roof. As soon as he hit the top, he dropped into a power-slide, gaining speed rapidly heading down the other side, simultaneously taking a quick account of who was left.
Archer posted back for security… one on the woman and daughter, one about to execute the guard. If I don’t hit the archer first, I would almost certainly take an arrow dead-on. But if I go for the archer, then…
D steeled himself. There was only one choice he could accept, and it wasn’t an easy one to make.
Diffuse Presence. Acceleration. Precision.
D leapt from the edge of the roof, quietly whistling through the air like an owl. The archer noticed too late, only when D’s shadow blocked the light from the shaded moon.
“WHO TH-“ Before he could finish his shout or raise his bow, D’s boot rode the soldiers face into the ground, splattering chunks of skull and grey matter across the cobblestone square.
“Damnit! There’s another one!” The swordsman finished his strike, severing the guardsman’s head with a meaty *schwick*, while the other soldier yanked the woman’s hair, tearing some out before he shoved her into the ground.
Acceleration. Agility. Swift Strike.
D deftly dodged out of the way of the first sword swing. His hand struck like a snake, grabbing hold of the swordsman’s arm while delivering an uppercut to the elbow with his free hand.
“GYAAA-!“ The swordsman howled with the *crack* of cartilage and bone.
D maintained his offensive, as he ripped the sword from the soldier’s loosened grip and stabbed it through his chin and out the back of his skull, sending a deluge of blood out from his freshly shish-kabobbed mouth.
The last soldier’s eyes bulged red, and he howled with senseless rage as he charged at D.
What a joke, compared to real monsters…
With a drop and twist, he delivered a low-kick with enough force to sweep the last soldier off his feet and sent him hurtling into the ground. With a deft movement of his hand, he whipped the dagger out from its’ sheath on the swordsman’s corpse.
D didn’t waste the moment’s advantage, and with a bloody glint in his eye, he sprinted behind the soldier and stabbed the blade between the soldier’s throat and shoulder blade, piercing deep into his heart.
Just how it’s always… done.
He was rewarded with a spray of blood from wound. He stepped back, looking at all the fresh blood on his hands, and the outstretch arm from the dying soldier as he clawed for life that he could no longer hold on to.
I’m supposed to hunt monsters, not men. Although… the two often aren’t as far apart as they may seem…
He grimly surveyed the market square filled with death and disembodied limbs, catching the occasional face ducking away in secret behind their windows, before settling on the freshly widowed woman and her daughter, mourning over the three dead men.
“Papa! Brother! Mom… mom… why won’t they move?”
D clenched his jaw tightly at the child’s cries, words lost on his tongue, but only when the mother noticed him and mouthed the words “Thank-you”, did he turn to leave.
He clenched his jaw tighter, tight enough to grind off a piece of a tooth, before he silently turned away and stormed back to his mission without looking back again.
If you knew I could have acted sooner, if you knew I could have saved their lives, would you still be thanking me?
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Fuckin’ hells. All the fuckin’ hells.” D grunted, blending back into the smoke filled night while his eyes dripped with a bloodlust fierce enough to drown out his own shame.
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“You ingrates better kick yer asses into gear if you hope to make it into Fólkvangr, let alone Valhalla!” Ivar’s gnarled old hands gripped the edges of his wheelchair, while his aged veins throbbed with rage.
Scores of dead men and women lay in the courtyard outside his manor, while his personal guard fought desperately to hold the inner gates against a contingent of the baron’s soldiers and assorted brigands.
“Next scroll! NOW, I SAID!” Ivar bellowed at his servant, eyes bulging red with fury as he reached out with his demanding hand.
“This is the last one, my lord.” The servant bowed, as he quickly placed a finely wrapped piece of parchment in the minister’s handing.
“Tch.” Ivar clicked his tongue in frustration, as he deftly unwrapped the scroll, revealing its ornate texts and layered magic circles while he bemoaned his plight in a thick Nordic accent. “If the king’s damned brothers hadn’t started their stupid war, I’d have stockpiled enough scrolls by now to withstand an entire damn siege.”
“My lord, should I bring out the support scrolls?” The servant asked nervously, his eyes jumping back inside the manor spoke of his hope to minimize how long he needed to be this close to the fighting.
“The hell kind of stupid question is that?! Of course you should!” Ivar spat back, the servant readily dashing back inside the halls.
With a deep breath, Ivar channeled his mana into the scroll and focused carefully on the frontline. The concentric circles glowed a deep azure, as he aimed for a target in the gap between his frontline guards and the assaulting usurpers.
“Back into Hel’s grasp with you, bastards! Lightning Spear!” The scroll burned into ash as a bolt of lightning formed itself into Ivar’s hand. He launched it the moment a sword pierced through one of his guards, aiming for the enemy rushing to fill in the freshly vacated position.
With a crack, the bolt tore through another half-dozen men, leaving naught but a clear, seared hole carved through everything in its path.
Steam glistened off his flesh, as he chugged the last blue vial on the small stand next to him. A dozen others lay scattered and empty around his chair. He eyed his personal guard captain stumbling to the base of his perron.
“My Lord! The mages cannot hold the shield wall up much longer! Permission to pull back inside the manor!” The guard practically begged, his voice haggard with exhaustion.
“I’ll be damned first! The moment that shield wall drops, half of you will die before you even make it up these steps! This is our last stand, so take as many of those bastards down with you as you can!”
“Yes, My Lord!” A hail of spells and arrows slammed the translucent shield, sending rippling impacts and cracks almost to affirm both points. The mages were barely able to keep up maintaining the shield wall.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar spied movement across one of the neighboring rooftops, followed by the silent drop of bodies from some of the flanking archers.
“M-my Lord, I have brought-“
“Hold just a moment! Nightvision.” Ivar cut off his returning servant, arms bundled with several old bundles of scrolls.
“Damn, it’s just one… wait…” Ivar’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the man, the hat looked damn familiar. Then… they shot wide open as the man was fully illuminated by a flaming arrow.
“Give me that, now!” In a panic, Ivar and shot his hand into the bundle of scrolls, aiming for the most elaborate one he had. In his haste, he knocked the rest from the servant’s arms and across the floor.
Ivar’s eyes leapt back to the battlefield, ignoring his servant’s protests, as he watched a blue bottle sail through the air. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to find out the hard way.
“Greater Shield Wall!”
He didn’t even look as he flung the scroll open, pouring everything he had into it. Ivar coughed out blood as steam burst from his wrinkled flesh, while a wall of blue mana interlaced with the translucent shield wall and stretched across the gate entrance.
Then, as if he felt time slowed down, he saw the flaming arrow arcing through the air. The blue liquid inside swirled violently, sending out an almost starry glow. He focused on it, enraptured, as the arrow shattered through the bottle, unleashing the stars into the night sky.
And what stars they were! Ivar gasped at the beauty of the white and blue gems erupting forth, taking the arrow’s flame within themselves and rejoicing in the fire as if each was its own small sun. Slowly expanding, their lights casting wild shadows across all directions, and the looks of wonderment on all the soldiers below.
Then, the stars fell, and with them came the screams.
The first was a soldier who reached to sky in praise, the ecstasy of the moment crumpled faster than a house of cards as the star touched his hand, followed immediately by a terrible shriek.
The armor melted and fused into flesh as the star roasted into the man’s arm, panic spreading like wildfire far too late.
Ivar had seen many things in his life, and had fought in many battles. His enraptured joy soured into abject horror, as his violently trembling hands tried to shield his eyes. But he couldn’t look away as he bore witness to the massacre.
His heart beat furiously as time and sound returned to the world, filled with the shrieks of men roasting alive from within and without.
Over a hundred men were out there, and most weren’t killed outright, and it was far too late to escape the reach of the deadly rain. The most fortunate were the soldiers who turned to look back, just for the ball of light to scorch its way through their eyes and into their brains.
The unholy shrieks as their eyes melted from their sockets was short lived, and they no longer could feel the flesh scorching away from their faces as they accepted death’s unforgiving embrace. They were the lucky ones.
For the others, the hail melted through arms and armor, limbs melting apart at the seams of impact and falling apart, the flames smoldering and spreading across every inch they touched.
Desperate mages flung spells summoning ice and water only fueled its spread, shattering the stars only for the fragments to reignite the moment the water washed away.
It burrowed into their flesh. It dug deeper and deeper into the body of anything it touched, sizzling and searing that which didn't outright melt. Anyone who tried to wipe it off, spread the flaming stars onto their hands and across their bodies. Through their faces, their eyes, their mouths… slow, horrible, burning deaths.
“It’s Hel herself…” Bile piled into Ivar’s mouth, even as he tried to repress it. The shrieks of the dying tore into his heart and soul, making even a banshee’s wail sound like a pleasant day at the park. His whole body trembled. His own men dropped to their knees and wept, as the shield walls fell.
Others stood and stared listlessly through the flames, their swords falling from their hands, while yet others fell into crazed laughter.
The line of white and blue flames across their base was the surest sign of their own salvation, as well as their greatest curse.
image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/28a9e778-53a6-4cc6-ac52-e7402d9b4bc2/grid_0.png]
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D carefully plotted his way through the fresh hellscape, stepping across all manners of melted flesh puddles and limbs deprived of their respective corpses.
He scrunched his nose and covered his mouth, the stench of seared flesh and other acrid odors filled the air with impunity. The flames were rapidly diminishing, with only a few spots still burning.
The few survivors looked worse than zombies, it was impossible to tell where the burned flesh ended and their armor or clothes began, yet their screams continued through broken vocal cords and scalded lungs, cracked and eerie.
“Get yerselves together, lads! Praise the Thunderer that you aren’t amongst the dying!” Ivar bellowed out to his men, having steeled his heart and eyes to project his strength.
He decked one of the listless guards in the face, shocking the man back into reality, as if to emphasize his point. Ivar fought to suppress a wince with the sounds of cracking bone, and one of his fingers failed to straighten out as he grabbed hold of his wheels and turned to face D.
“Well now, if it ain’t the son of Hel himself. Tell me, what devil possessed you to concoct that hellfire?” Ivar stared sharply into D’s eyes, without a hint of relief nor thanks.
D glanced back at the devastation. Only the worst kind of monsters would make something like that… and to give it away with such reckless abandon too…
Still, he had just saved their lives. D stared down his nose at Ivar, and answered dryly. “The same one that convinced me to waste a perfectly good bottle saving an old goat pretending to be a sophisticated bureaucrat.”
Ivar leaned back into his chair, resting his face on the hand with the twisted finger and shot a twisted smile at D. “Ah, so the mystery man looks to engage in a game of words with me? Rather bold of you, I presume, doing so in the midst of all my men at arms.” He waved his free hand, motioning towards his contingent of guards and sorcerers, the thick Norse accent evaporating in a moment’s notice.
Ivar waited just long enough for D to step back into a defensive stance, before breaking into a bout of laughter, and then pivoting into a relentless series of commands.
“Now get yer asses back in line, you yellow bastards think this is over with just the fight here? Are you proud sons of Odin or are you trying to go on a picnic with the cheatin’ lass down the street?!”
D practically snapped at the whiplash, as the guards pick up their comrades swords and shoved them back into their listless hands, forcefully dragging each other out of their thousand-yard stares on sheer, drilled-in instinct as they got into formation.
“The hell’r you standin’ around for? Only the devil’s worth pushing my chair, so get to it.” Ivar shot D another cruel glance, making clear this wasn’t a choice to begin with.
The fuck is wrong with people in this city?!
D sauntered over, and gave the wheelchair a rough shove as he reluctantly pushed it along, his temples throbbing ever so slightly more than they should, all the while a speck of doubt wormed its way uncomfortably into his brain.
“So, where to?” D asked pleasantly, smiling prominently in response to Ivar’s steely glare.
“The hell else, to go get my ships. You showed me your hellfire, so I thought I may as well show you mine!”
In response to Ivar’s freely sadistic smile, an incredibly unpleasant knot twisted itself inside D’s stomach, as he was having a harder and harder time discerning between monsters and men.
Perhaps… I’ll hold off on judging the boy just yet… at least until I can really be certain he isn’t just a genius asshole.
D repressed his fury, as the wheelchair jostled over a loose foot and prompted another barrage from the minister. “Any of those fuckers who raised you ever taught you how to push a damn chair? How damn hard could it be?!”
Not just his temples, but any vein that could manage it throbbed violently. I really should have left this bastard to die.