The solitary hill in front of Jeremy was not a natural one. Carefully placed stones encircled its base — the work of villagers who once lived there.

Today, he was out on scouting duties together with three of Captain Cicero’s men. They were deep inside enemy lines looking for signs of spires.

Delthek, suggested they head to Cairnhold — a recently abandoned village that once stood upon the hill they were standing on.

The enemy spotted them on their way to the village — wolfmen tinged blue by the Ice’s unnatural magic. Cairnhold was a good place to make a stand. Jeremy hoped they wouldn’t find it occupied.

“Crossbow, up top,” Jeremy commanded. He turned to the two remaining soldiers. “There’s six of them, two for each of us. Just hold them off until Yaren’s bolts punch a hole in them.”

The crossbowman waved further up the hill, assuring them he was ready.

Jeremy eyed Delthek and then the younger Tarl, noting the uneasiness in the youth’s movements.

“Delthek, hold the left,” he ordered. “I’ll take the right.”

“Let me hold the right,” Tarl offered. “The wolfmen are flanking — the middle is the safest position.”

“I don’t like being flanked,” Jeremy frowned. “Even by allies.”

“I’m a soldier, Sir Scourge. We’ve been tasked to see to your safety. I will not —“

“Then stay in the middle so you can protect me longer.”

Jeremy knew the Captain would not give such orders — however, his status as one of the Blackstaff’s men might have skewed the soldier’s thinking.

The wolfmen split into two groups as expected. They were armored — bits and pieces of leather and mail patched together. Four of them wielded spears with icicle-like points while two had axes. Even without weapons, they would have posed a threat with their wicked claws and sharp teeth.

Jeremy heard Delthek cry out in warning as one of the wolfmen appeared in front of him, thrusting with its spear.

God-cursed porters!

He dropped into a crouch, raising his staff — now in glaive farm — to deflect the strike. Jeremy struck as the wolfman’s spear was rising, the tip of his glaive piercing the wolfman’s side.

His glaive changed into a scythe as he pulled, its blade turning ethereal.

The wolfman fell — downed by the necrotic energy coursing through his staff.

A bolt stopped another wolfman in its tracks, but now the remaining four managed to close in.

Jeremy saw a spear fly. He stood his ground knowing its trajectory would miss him.

“Spear!” he warned — but it was too late for Tarl.

The young scout tried to evade the flying spear, only for it to strike his thigh. The impact was so strong, the spear pierced through his thigh and drove into the ground.

Tarl was pinned — and vulnerable.

Jeremy struggled. Healing the scout would be useless as the spear was still embedded in his thigh. He saw the injured man draw his sword — gritting through the pain as he mustered a semblance of defense.

The reality of war dawned on the wizard. Death was a real possibility on the battlefield — and the young Tarl could be one of its casualties.

Another bolt flew — this one missing its target.

Delthek was holding off two foes — one with a spear, the other an axe. Tarl was doing his best trying to stay alive against his unarmed foe — warding off claws and fangs with wide sweeps of his sword.

Jeremy thrust his glaive at his opponent, forcing it back with quick jabs and timed sweeps.

The creature roared, taking a hit and trying to wrench the glaive from the wizard as it pierced its shoulder.

However, the wizard’s glaive was no glaive, it was a staff — a staff of pain.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The wolfman shuddered as waves of pain overrun his senses. Its grip on the staff tightened as its muscles spasmed from the intense agony — allowing the wizard’s staff to continue channeling.

Within moments, it stopped struggling.

The weight of the falling wolfman almost wrenched the staff away from Jeremy.

He turned to Tarl, managing to parry a claw that would have disfigured the scout with the barbed end of his spear.

The creature halted for a moment as it tried to push through the pain — but that instance was enough for Tarl to drive his sword into its unprotected neck.

Delthek avoided a spear thrust but took an axe to his shoulder — almost severing his arm.

A crossbow bolt took care of the axe-wielding wolfman before it could do more damage, and Jeremy finished the remaining foe with his own bolt of hellfire.

Jeremy tightened his grip on his staff, allowing the pain to clear his thoughts.

He gave the injured scouts a few jabs of his staff, preventing their injuries from worsening — but doing little to mend broken bones. He needed Lifesaver’s for that — and he had no time to craft them for every soldier in the vanguard.

They were spotted too quickly. Spires probably had some kind of detection ability, which they crossed a while back.

It knew where they were, but Jeremy now had a way to find the spire — six ways, in fact.

He moved away from the winded scouts, advising them that they would be leaving through a gate in a moment or two.

He made his way towards the wolfmen — they would serve him in death as they did the Ice in life.

The spell failed.

Jeremy remembered stories about the Ice and how it would animate the dead to fight with its horde. The wolfmen were already becoming undead — sliver’s of the Ice’s power flowing into their dead bodies, changing them into something else.

The wizard smiled. He couldn’t feel their enemies’ connection to the Ice that sustained them — but the energy flowing into them in death? That he could trace easily.

“Get ready to leave,” he turned to the scouts. “I know where one of the spires is located. Now we’ll just need to make a small detour.”

***

Yaren stared at the landscape. They were nowhere near the Ice, Evergreen, or the kingdom for that matter.

What he saw was a place void of life and chasms filled with fire.

“Welcome to Happenstance or Hell number 1,” the Scourge proudly declared. “This was my first successful portal to hell — or a hell, at least.”

Yaren couldn’t fathom what he was saying. They were in hell?

“As you can see, most of its residents have vanished — probably heading out to greener hellscapes.”

The wizard started walking, urging them to follow.

“Most of its residents?”

Yaren helped the limping Tarl walk. His leg was broken, probably in more than one place. He needed the healers back in Evergreen, else his bones might set improperly.

“Oh, yes — most of them,” the wizard seemed nonchalant in answering. “There’s still that cloud thing that chases after you. A cloud with teeth — can you imagine that?”

Yaren could, actually — and the images his mind created frightened him to the core.

“Are we safe?”

“Yes — uhm, maybe. Probably.”

Somehow the wizard’s answer didn’t inspire that much confidence.

“Why not open a portal to Evergreen or just teleport us all? Why send us here?”

“I have a thing with porting,” the Scourge frowned, “and my portals are a bit more complicated than the average wizard’s.”

“Why are we walking?” Delthek complained. His injured arm was bound in a sling but he could walk without any problems.

Yaren noted his heavy breathing — the scout was probably scared.

It wasn’t just the location, it was also the Scourge. His cowl was up and his staff was back in its scythe form. Delthek almost died, and being taken by a death-like figure to hell was probably screwing with his mind.

“My portals are more like shortcuts,” the Scourge explained. “The citadel would be around a mile that way — give or take a mile or two?”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

“We’re in hell,” the wizard shrugged. “Of course, it won’t make sense.”

The wizard was definitely a strange one — but he was on their side. Yaren clasped the ring on his finger — it was a magical item that allowed its wearer to teleport short distances. The Scourge didn’t even give it a thought — tossing it to him, saying he should bring it since the two were injured.

It probably belonged to some noble — whose house would most likely ask for it back once they find out about it.

They walked for what seemed like hours, the wizard humming in front as if he reminiscing his childhood. It was probably just minutes, else Dalthek or Tarl would have bled out or fainted from exhaustion.

“And there it is — the cloud of teeth.”

Yaren turned to where the wizard pointed — finding out that his imagination didn’t do the cloud justice.

It was a creature, hidden by the smoke around it, with only its teeth showing in contrast to its ashen surroundings. He counted almost a dozen mouths on the beast — probably something like a hydra of sorts, or a bunch of snakes.

“Good thing we’re close to our destination. Otherwise, we’d be torn to shreds.”

Yaren couldn’t figure out if the wizard’s glee was due to them nearing their destination or at the thought of them getting ripped to shreds by the massive floating beast.

“Come, come,” the Scourge gestured. “It’s another five minutes of walking — you don’t want the cloud catching up to us.