He didn’t fully recall the world he once knew: civilization, politics, economics, war. Insignificant bits and pieces were scattered throughout his mind with no clear correlation. Whether it be the passage of time, his inhumane torture or some other intrusion; he couldn’t be certain.
But the girl in the cabin – that memory remained prominent. And the men sent to kill those with the gift of magic. Shortly after came his righteous suicide.
He wondered why he went to such lengths.
Much time had passed. A few years? Decades? Did it matter? Perhaps. After all, elves lived far longer than humans.
That’s right. Kurtis rubbed his temples. Elves. That's what they're called.
It was only a small bit of recollection, but one of absolute significance. He needed to locate where they lived. If the girl survived, then surely that would be her destination. She would be much older now and attempt to contact those of her own race rather than those who abhorred magic.
One task at a time, he thought.
Kurtis removed a stitched leather glove, crouched and brushed his hand over chunks of dirt. He crushed it in a slowly curled fist. He opened his hand and watched the dirt pour between his fingers. Even after years in Hell, the copper soil was unmistakable.
“Bad earth,” he muttered.
Kurtis stared over the wasteland that stretched below. A murky fog seeped from the blighted ground, the main source a gaping fissure that extended east to west beyond sight. The trunks of dead trees clung to the edges with roots in a state akin to rigormortis. No animals were in the vicinity, though he did discern the yellow-white of massive bones that suggested some creatures once lived here. Trailing the edges of the lifeless land rose mountains with peaks like jagged teeth gnawing at the dark clouds.
The Hell Knight stepped to the edge of the plateau, dipped his toes and slid down the slightly angled side. No pain registered in his knees when he ended the last thirty feet in free fall. A whirlwind of dust bellowed around him from the impact. He wiped some stray grains of dirt from his messy black hair and blinked a few times to clear his vision.
The air was foul. His sense of smell hadn’t diminished. He pulled up the torn cowl tucked in his armor and covered the lower half of his face. The faint odor of his sweat was much preferred over the decay that permeated the air.
Sweat. His new body retained some basic functions. Well, more like his materialized soul took on the qualities of a human body. The enhanced regeneration and nature of his organs would take some experimentation. He had to admit that the bastards who tortured him really had a knack for anatomy.
Kurtis ignored the crunching under his feet as he maneuvered around the fleshless bones littering the dirt. Bodies of once-massive beasts, long-decayed, still seemed to retain the pungent smell of death. He ducked under an arcing rib cage that protected a host of smaller bones, perhaps the remains of the beast’s last meals.
Kurtis stopped after a few hours traveling the quiet, unchanging environment as he found himself standing upon flattened dirt that hugged the crest of a steep hill. He stomped one of his leather-armored feet in a few places. Then he crouched and wiped away the cool, brown surface.
Wind was mostly absent in this empty place, but beneath a thin layer of dirt was a rivet about an inch deep. Kurtis reasoned he would find a similar cut in the dirt a few feet over, possibly the tracks of a wagon gone some months or years before if the weather remained consistent. The stillness and small bones he passed in the wasteland attested to this. With all the dirt and hills, a single weak storm would conceal them.
He made his way down the road towards the pale orange of the sun blending with the clouds.
What a sad place to die.
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Some days passed.
Dry wasteland gave way to wet forest so abruptly that Kurtis may well have walked through an invisible portal to another land. One might think of it as a land with life in abundance, but life only lingered within the tortured trees strangled by encroaching vines and plagued by gross fungi.
Two worlds in a shared expanse. Complete opposites sharing the same stillness. Death cradled in emptiness. Emptiness amongst abundance.
The crunch of dead grass seemed to echo in his ears as he circumvented the forest's many obstacles. On occasion, he even made it a point to step on exposed roots to avoid the aggravating sound. There were also some blue mushrooms with thin crimson vines that curled up from underneath the caps. The surrounding foliage appeared particularly lifeless near the strange fungi.
Kurtis jumped from the root of a stilted tree and entered an area that opened to the sky for the first time in many hours. He halted at an impasse in the form of a flat rock face that broke the forest canopy. To either side, thick vegetation formed a wall nearly as impenetrable. Thorns creeped amongst the foliage, sharp as barbed wire. Elegant leaves with thick stems glistened despite the lack of sunlight, likely concealing some sort of lymphatic solution that might impart an ailment to individuals who brushed against them.
Climbing a wall of such height without proper equipment was sheer folly, especially the lack of any visible handholds.
He stared at the other barrier of dangerous greenery. The time for researching his body came sooner than expected.
Nothing compared to years of torture in Hell, he thought. Then the afterthought, I’m fairly certain, surfaced from a part of his brain that still held amusement. He chuckled as he drew the long sword from the scabbard strapped to his waist.
The sword went to work cutting clean slices through vines and thorns that wrapped around each other in desperate defense. Even the thickest coils of spikes did not obstruct the sword’s motion. Its precise descent and skilled swipes made every obstruction seem like rice paper. But a sword can only cut that which is in its path. It didn’t eradicate. What remained of the thorns and deceptive leaves reluctantly made way for the knight, but not without at least an attempt to seek out the thin openings of his armor to puncture, poison and pry.
The blood welled up as it trickled into pools within his armor. Crimson crawled down the outside and painted the leaves. The pain didn’t register, much like when he took his long fall from earlier. His body was accustomed to it. The hurt was still present, but not worthy of acknowledgment.
Warm strands of yellow light soon accompanied the all-encompassing, verdant hunger as he broke free.
Fallen trees obscured the grass of the forest floor. The rock wall still to his left cracked and jutted in multiple sections where vines took hold. A propped tree angled itself onto a depressed area where a path atop the barrier meandered out of sight. Rather than continue aimlessly, Kurtis opted to seize the opportunity and view the area from above.
A foul smell overpowered Kurtis’s senses as he approached the tree. The origin was obvious. A body obscured by the trunk on one side lay torn and rancid. The creature had four legs with sharp claws for feet. What remained of the body suggested thick muscle, judging from the singular burly leg in proportion to the massive body. The head was akin to some hairless bull. A host of flies feasted within the exposed rib cage, the first living creatures he’d seen after his return to the surface.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
He crouched next to the body and examined it. There was a faint trace of blood near its jutted mouth. Three deep, jagged lines of torn flesh led to the exposed entrails. The cause of death was obvious from the brutality. The initial stages of decomposition were barely underway, based on the lack of significant bloating and only slight discoloration. Kurtis judged the corpse at a few days old.
Where are all the scavengers? Kurtis wondered. He didn’t know why this thought was at the forefront of his concerns.
Whatever vicious predator lurked in the forest might still be nearby if it was a hunting ground. Too much of the body remained for sustenance as the sole purpose of the killing.
Something did this for sport.
Kurtis didn’t linger.
He took the first step onto the fallen tree. It groaned under his weight after the second careful step. A few more quick strides and he cleared the additional vertical distance at the end with little issue.
Kurtis breathed a relieved sigh as the curving path in the wall led further up. It wrapped to the other side and revealed a purposeful gap in the forest. The gap extended further west and cut its way through a brief pass between the mountains. He could even see to the other side where a group of deer feasted on the grass within a copse of tress.
Hopefully the presence of the gentle creatures symbolized an auspice of safety.
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That night he feasted. He couldn’t bring himself to kill the mother doe with her young fawns. Instead, he set a series of snares within small patches of forest he was certain small animals must travel through. There were also areas where the depressed grass indicated light foot traffic. A shallow pond was nearby with healthy milkweed. Its fibers did the trick for his traps.
His labor and patience rewarded him with two rabbits. Kurtis felt the saliva build up in his mouth at the sight of the cooking meat. He didn’t know if the hunger suddenly gnawing at his belly indicated that he required sustenance, but he saw no reason to test this theory until necessity called for it. Besides, his taste buds were obviously functional.
He welcomed the chirping crickets and the hum of cicadas that sung in unison. The silence of the past evenings would drive any normal man mad. Even he in his aberrant existence felt his emotions seizing up.
As he was reaching for one of the skewers over the fire, the unmistakable snap of a branch reached his ears. His hand froze and he shifted his head slightly towards the sound's general direction.
“Well now, isn’t this a surprise.”
Kurtis leapt to his feet in less than a second. The handle of the long sword welcomed his grip even faster. He readied the blade and faced the raspy voice that greeted him.
An elderly woman stood hunched between two trees, holding a dim lantern that dangled from perpetually bent fingers. A toothless smile formed on her face as she approached with careful steps. Kurtis didn’t slacken in the slightest.
“My my. So rigid. Be at ease, child. What threat could this old woman pose?”
“As bait,” Kurtis responded.
The old woman frowned. “Sound reasoning. But would a servant of Lady Nanalia be considered a threat?”
Kurtis eased his elbows. The motion might have been perceived as a relaxed stance if not for the blade still leveled at the old woman’s throat. She stared at the tip of the blade and hesitated a moment before speaking again.
“Allow me to explain.” She gestured next to the fire.
When it was apparent that Kurtis didn't plan to join her right away she moved to sit down first. She winced a bit as her atonic joints bent, and she unsteadily fell back on her rear. After another quick observation of the forest, Kurtis joined her with the naked blade crossed over his lap.
“You serve Nanalia?” he asked.
The old woman nodded and rolled up the sleeve of her robe to reveal a tattoo depicting the silhouette of an individual on bent knees, eyes downcast and consumed by flames.
Kurtis instinctively rolled up his sleeves in search of a similar brand. He hooked his thumbs beneath his breastplate and scanned his chest. Nothing.
The old woman purposefully coughed into her hand to grab his attention. “Lady Nanalia can be rather, well, flirtatious.”
Kurtis simply stared and attempted to comprehend the explanation. A few moments later a spark of remembrance flashed across his eyes. He loosened the leather straps holding his layered cuisse in place. He removed them, unbuckled his belt and checked beneath his linen undergarments. Sure enough, after a cursory inspection, he spotted on the inside of his right thigh near his crotch region the silhouette of a burning man.
That devious bitch. He focused on putting his gear back on to contain the frustration.
“What is it you want?” Kurtis asked.
The smile returned to the old woman’s face. “Straight to the point. Good. Firstly, my name is Diolgess. Summoned in Ierasa. A demon of human possession.”
Kurtis did well to hide his displeasure at the thought. “You can only exist on this earth in a human body?”
It was more a statement than an actual question. He recalled a few bits of information Nanalia related to him concerning the various types of demons. He also received some lessons from the hooded creature with clicking mandibles who removed the function of a certain nether-region. They'd managed to educate him somewhat between his molding sessions. Enough repetition allowed him to retain the information that was apparently important enough, but he would definitely need a refresher.
“Correct,” Diolgess said.
“And what of the human’s soul? It's still in that body you possessed, right?”
The demon seemed to catch on to the disapproving tone in his voice and assumed the string of questions that would invariably follow. “Ah, I forget. Yours is a soul of righteousness.”
The Hell Knight glared at the demon.
Diolgess cleared his throat and instinctively pulled at the scarf wrapped around his sagging neck. “Do not think too ill of me. The soul I’ve suppressed is one of a woman who drowned her child at the edge of a lake some fifty years ago.”
“Is that right…”
“Truly.”
Kurtis had no evidence to dispute the claim, so he simply rested his hands on the bare blade of his sword and waited for the demon to continue.
“Well then, let us proceed to the matter at hand.” Diolgess forced his eyes away from the sword. “By Lady Nanalia’s entreaty, I am here with an offer of services, as well as a humble request.”
“Start with the request,” Kurtis interrupted.
Diolgess wiped at the wrinkled and baggy eyes of his old body. “Very well. For me to carry out these services, I require a fresh body. This one, as you can see, is no longer fit for long travel or anything strenuous.”
Kurtis took note of this drawback. The life of a possession demon wasn’t an easy one. Needing another new body after an indeterminate amount of time must make it a difficult task to become familiar with its differing functions from those previous. Kurtis recalled how daunting it was adjusting to the new body of his materialized soul, and that body resembled his old one in almost every aspect.
“You need me to obtain a new body for you,” Kurtis surmised.
“Indeed.”
“I assume this body must have a soul that committed sin.”
Diolgess gave him a near-toothless grin. “You certainly catch on quick.”
“Aren’t all the sentient races full of sinners?”
“In varying degrees. There is always greater sin,” Diolgess explained. "The severity and amount determines my ability to suppress the soul."
Kurtis stared at the demon for a moment as he considered the explanation. He made a mental note to inquire about the suggestive, varying levels of sin at a later date.
“And how does this benefit me?” Kurtis asked.
Diolgess’s smile wavered as he felt the thin bones under the old woman’s frail skin begin to creak and spasm. He leaned forward and ran a mangled hand over his chest to soothe the pain.
The demon nodded apologetically. “Forgive me. Like you, I still feel the pains of the body. The heart moreso. Ah, yes, my contribution to your cause. As you may imagine, being in so many bodies has given me much knowledge of this world from varying perspectives. I can provide you with this knowledge. I have taken the body of a knight in Haven, peasants in the lowlands, a servant in one of the noble houses of Ierasa and many more that will be of use.”
Kurtis relaxed somewhat and folded his arms over his chest as he considered the proposal. It was a fair trade from the sound of it. His memories were sparse at best: his name, fragments of the country he once called home, the burning village and the scene with the girl that he sacrificed his life for. The 'why,' the most important piece, eluded him. He also had no way of knowing how much the world changed in his absence. What common history was forged? What politics influenced the masses? How dead was the world (oh yes, it was clearly dying)? What form of war waged? Of course, the only certainty was that people were fighting. But he needed a start to an information network, or he would be lost in this foreign land.
He attempted to recall where Haven and Ierasa were located. At least they were names he could latch onto that might spur more bits of memory. He also remembered the mention of Haven in his memory before his rebirth as a Hell Knight. It still meant little to him, unfortunately.
Yes, he wouldn’t make it far in this world alone. Trust was still a fickle thing. But for now…
“Very well,” Kurtis said. “You shall have your body. I assume you have eyes set on one?”
Diolgess flexed his fingers as if he were attempting to make a triumphant fist. “I do.”