“Through its eyes, I saw the soul of another and I saw death. This was ancient evil spying on me, the thing which lurks in the void. I am not ashamed to say that I ran. I ran from the child with smiling fangs and pointed horns just as I stand before you this day. My company stood fast, the idiots; they’re all dead now.”

—Jarik Kolsson, on trial for desertion.

Sian couldn’t move and her heart raced. Every last ounce of strength she possessed was used fighting her way free of the guards at the Wall, and more when fleeing from their sight. Strength she didn’t know existed had taken her far, but it had to run out eventually, and it did. A shaky step failed to support her weight and lo, she fell to Vos. Her weary limbs did not have the strength to return her to her feet.

There she lay—time passing, Sellis burning, Vos her stoic companion—until she heard the rustle of leaves and the trample of careless feet. Danger was approaching, but this did not change her helplessness. That same danger hit her head on; a boot to the ear that became tangled in her horns as he fell and wrenched her neck.

Danger groaned in pain, “Fucking Hell! Fuck.”

He kicked her then let out a yelp and swore. Sian wanted to swear. This was not good. She hadn't come this far to be killed by some idiot literally stumbling into her. She tried to move, crawl, anything! All she managed was to feel more pain.

Shouts came from afar; the man had friends. They would be here soon and they sounded far more intelligent than the man still sprawled before her. They were likely more dangerous as well. Sian stilled her movements trying to think over her options. She could try tripping the newcomers—fat chance of that—bite their ankles? Demons in their true forms had not been seen in the deadlands for over twenty years; perhaps that wouldn’t recognize what she was and not kill her. Yeah right.

Damn them! Damn herself. Why was she so helpless? Sian stared wide-eyed at the harbinger of her doom and–

This man was familiar. His annoyingly sculpted features and thick brown hair. Hateful grey eyes… This man was an enemy. He was Aiden. Dea’Ammat glared at the foolish boy looking foolishly back at them.

He had no idea.

The Bastard.

The killer.

He needed to die.

Sian focused on their prey, exhaustion somehow diminished. Wonderful energy surging through her veins. They raised themselves to a crouch and fixed their gaze on the target.

“I think it’s a demon!” he shouted, fear leaking into his words.

Good. He should be afraid. Dea’Ammat smiled; Sian smiled; demons bared their fangs.

They lunged for the bastard's throat and chased after his mad scramble to escape their deadly clutches. He fell in his attempt to stand, slipping and stumbling over his stupidity. His ankle was just there for the taking. Their claws sank into the boney appendage and their hands wrapped around his fragile neck. Cruel fingers curled precisely over his life's breath if they were made for each other and squeezed

His skin paled. Bright red jewels of blood dripped free from delicate lacerations that they had drawn, and It. Was. Beautiful. Truly a sight to behold.

The hated man squirmed like the bug he was, his eyes shining with fear.

A great, burning pain pierced Sian’s side. Their grip almost weakened. Not yet, almost there. They were so close.

Again a blade pierced Sian's side, the pain somehow greater. It would not be enough to stop them. A second blade joined the first ripping through Sian's back, a third came shortly after. No! They screamed and rage tore through Sian’s throat. Their grip weakened.

Sian was no more.

They became less.

Tears stung Dea’Ammat’s cheeks as once more a hole was left in their soul, and once more they were too weak to kill the enemy. Vengeance had failed. Maya had failed again, and now she knew what that horrible feeling in the darkest recesses of her mind was.

Her Horde was dying, and each death killed her that much more.

“Damn it.”

*****

Sightless eyes stared into Aidens and he held back the urge to blink. He knew this was no contest he could win, but it just somehow felt wrong to look away from the dead monster, like it might come back to tear apart his larynx. That, and the eyes looked a touch accusatory; resembled his sister’s a bit too closely now that they stayed a chestnut brown. That those same eyes had been glaring at him in blood red and glowing yellow earlier only made it worse.

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Fuck, this sucked. Aiden let out a deep sigh and rose to his feet, lightly testing his twisted ankle and prodding at his miraculously whole throat. Thank the Dev’s that the ridiculous realism didn’t extend to out of combat healing; that would have been a literal pain.

The accelerated healing had sealed shut the line cut into his throat and eliminated any pain from standing. He could walk again, which was nice, and also kind of important, so, “yay”. They’d also managed to take down a demon and the increased skill gains from that were huge. Aiden had levelled up damage taking, healing, brawling, daggers and a bunch of other strange skills multiple times.

He was fine, the gains were great, and this was a game. Aiden smiled and ignored his pulse pounding in his ears and his still shaking hand. He was fucking great.

“Hey, check out the loot!” Morrigan called out.

“What loot? That’s a corpse.” Aiden walked over and rolled the body over with a toe. “All I see are rags.”

“Idiot, the body is the loot, or the horns are anyway; they’re glowing.”

“They're white and mildly clean Morgan—not even sparkling clean—that’s not glowing.”

“It’s a perk of my gathering skill. It just reached level 25 and now highlights valuable flora and fauna.”

“So how do we collect the horns then?” Arthur asked.

“That– I don’t know. I don’t have the perk for that.”

“How do you already have a skill at 25?” Aiden complained, “I’ve just got over a hundred skills at, like, 17.”

“Should we cut off the head?” Arthur suggested ignoring Aiden.

“Eww! Brother, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Quit insinuating I have a decapitation fetish, Witch.”

“Oh, hey my walking skill is at 26.”

“Tight Ass!” Morrigan name-called, also ignoring Aiden.

“Harpy!”

“Says I’ve got the “blind walking” perk...”

“Nerd!”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t we just chop off the horns? I’ve got a hand axe,” Aiden cut in.

“That could damage them,” reasoned Arthur.

“But it’s probably our best option. Let’s just get it done so we can be on our way. Boys! If you would do the honours please.” Morrigan gestured to the corpse and sat down a couple of feet away, leaving little room for argument.

Aiden and Arthur looked to each other, the corpse, then at Morrigan lounging back and waving at them to “get on with it,” and back at the corpse again and shrugged; Best be “getting on with it”. The work was messy, turned out there was blood in those horns, would that make them antlers? Did they care? The grim work of slaughter left one with many philosophical questions.

After that was done, and the horn antlers were tied up with twine and slung over Arthur's back, the trio continued on their way down the path and towards the Wall. This time carefully walking in close proximity and watching the path before them. 10 minutes into this tedium the group agreed to have rotating member scouting out ahead. This accomplished little except level a new scouting skill and give the pair left behind a chance to gossip behind the scout's back.

*****

“Do you think Arthur knows?” asked Morrigan.

“He can’t. Can he?” replied Aiden.

“But it’s so big.”

“And probably wet.”

“Sticky too.”

“And probably stinks.”

“The Horn-antlers would stink the same.”

“Right.”

“What are you two talking about?” Arthur asked, returning from the trees.

Morrigan’s eyes went wide saying, “He doesn’t.”

Aidens eyebrows rose; “Holy crap.”

Aiden and Morgan silently agreed not to tell Arthur about the bloody brown stain on the seat of his pants or the Horn-antler blood dripping down his back and joining it.

*****

Arrival at the Wall came in three parts. First, they saw a flat line of solid white connecting jagged peaks in the distance. Next, they approached the Nynf valley following the snaking river of the same name, first seeing then feeling the great shadow that bisected it. Only a few steps were needed to cross from warm sunlight to cool and deepening shade. The walking continued for several hours even after entering the Wall’s shadow.

The final step in arriving at the wall was, fittingly enough, the wall itself. A small collection of outbuildings and training yards were clustered around its base through which the path they followed led and ended at a small guardhouse.

Solidly built of sculpted stone and solid pine, the guardhouse looked like a scar set into the impeccable white wall. Granted, it was a damn sight better than the rest of the camp which looked like a hurricane had gone and had its way with it.

The training yard was scored with pits and broken equipment. The outbuildings were trashed, showing broken shutters and doors hanging on broken hinges.

All of this was clearly visible from a ways away and while Aiden remained distracted by the bundle bouncing in Arthurs back, the siblings grew silent as they figured something was not quite right. They approached regardless, following the pattern of tedium which had taken them this far already. Left foot followed by right foot, right foot followed by left, hop over the root, sidestep that ditch and right foot follows the left. All the while the Horn-antler bundle bounced, no longer dripping blood, the splatter pattern on Arther’s back had turned from red to rust to brown.

So it was that the party consisting of three arrived at Wallven, passing through a shattered gate and greeted at speer point.

They froze.

The group of spear bearers shared some meaningful glances and nudges before a scrawny freckled boy stepped forward and spoke,

“Y-You there, what be your business here?” there was some more shuffling and nudges, “and show us the tops of your heads!”

“Umm,” Aiden replied eloquently, “You looking for these?”

He pulled the bundle from Arthurs back and held it before the guards. The once alabaster spirals swung in his grip, a pendulum splattered by blood and dirt. Freckles let out a squawk and fell flat on his ass.