Vesper led Erik up the winding forest path, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The paladin trainee had spoken little since they left the village, her eyes distant, lost in memories of a town that no longer existed as it once had.
"It wasn’t always like that," Vesper said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of what they'd seen. "Ebonfield... I remember visiting once, when I was younger. There was a little girl in the square, making bracelets out of woven threads. And a bread shop. You could smell the loaves baking from down the street."
She trailed off, her gaze unfocused as they passed through lush vegetation. Towering trees lined their path, and every now and then, they would pass the remains of an ancient stone structure, overrun by moss and vines, reclaimed by the forest over centuries. The tranquility of the place felt at odds with the horrors they had just escaped.
Vesper sighed. "Now... now there's nothing left. We’ll never be the same after seeing what we saw."
Erik glanced at her, though his expression was hard to read. Since the battle, he'd become more distant, his mind weighed down by his transformation and the strange new powers coursing through him. His hand—the one that housed N'Zol—twitched now and then, as though the demon was listening, waiting for the right moment to make its presence known.
"You’re staring again," N’Zol’s voice broke the quiet, a low, mocking drawl that only Erik could hear. "If you’re going to leer at her, at least be subtle about it. Or is that beyond you now?"
Erik’s jaw tightened. "Shut up," he muttered under his breath.
Vesper looked over at him, catching the movement of his lips. "Did you say something?"
"No," Erik replied quickly, though his demon hand curled into a fist, as if trying to silence itself. N'Zol, however, wasn't done.
"Also, you stink," the demon added, sniffing exaggeratedly. "You know, a good bath wouldn’t kill you. Actually, it might. But still, you need one. And I’m hungry."
"Keep it to yourself," Erik hissed under his breath, quickening his pace. The demon chuckled, relishing in Erik’s frustration.
Vesper raised an eyebrow but said nothing, focusing instead on the path ahead. She was used to Erik’s muttering by now, but something in his tone seemed off, more strained than usual. She glanced down at his demon-imbued hand again, noticing its twitching fingers. It unnerved her, the way the demon seemed to influence Erik more each day, but she didn’t press the issue.
"I remember leaving town," Vesper said, her voice softer now. "There was a boy, lying across the ground, sleeping in his mother’s lap. Their house was in ruins, but they survived. I couldn’t help but wonder... what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been there?"
Erik remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere. As they walked, the sense of being watched gnawed at him. The forest was peaceful, too peaceful, the kind of quiet that sets your nerves on edge. He scanned the treetops, the underbrush, but saw nothing. Yet the feeling persisted, crawling along his skin.
Then, a system message appeared before his eyes, text that only he could see:
[Alert: Demonic Presence Detected] Status: Hidden. Distance: Nearby.
Erik stopped dead in his tracks, the words hanging in his vision like a warning bell. He glanced at Vesper, his heart racing. "Something’s not right," he said, his voice tense. "We’re being watched."
Vesper’s hand went to the hilt of her sword instinctively, her body shifting into a defensive stance. "How do you know?"
"I—" Erik opened his mouth to explain, but instead of words, a strange guttural sound escaped his throat, like a growl mixed with a wheeze. He clamped his mouth shut, confused and alarmed. N'Zol’s laughter echoed in his mind, loud and mocking.
"Oh, that’s rich," the demon cackled. "You can’t even talk about it, can you? The system, the messages—it’s locked behind the demon language now. You’d need a demon’s tongue and essence flowing through you to speak it aloud. Good luck explaining that to your friend."
Erik clenched his teeth, glaring at nothing. "Shut. Up."
"Such hostility," N'Zol teased. "I’m just trying to help you understand. Your power has... rules. The system doesn’t want just anyone spilling its secrets, you know. Be grateful you’re not choking on your own tongue."
Vesper, noticing the look on Erik’s face, remained alert. She tightened her grip on her sword. "What is it?" she pressed. "If you can’t explain it, at least tell me what we’re dealing with."
Erik met her gaze, trying to focus past the demon’s taunting. "Something’s close. And it’s... demonic."
At that, Vesper straightened, her eyes scanning the dense forest around them. She could feel it now too, the faint pulse of something unnatural lurking just out of sight. "We need to be ready," she said, her voice low. "Stay close, and keep your guard up."
As they moved forward, Erik couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them, following them from the shadows. And as they neared the Red Queen’s temple, the presence only seemed to grow stronger.
Suddenly, a shimmer of movement caught his eye—a figure huddled behind a massive boulder. Erik’s system immediately pinged:
[Alert: Demonic Presence Detected] Status: Passive. Distance: 20 feet.
Erik slowed his pace, his hand hovering over his sword. “Vesper,” he whispered, nodding toward the large rock ahead. “Something’s there.”
Before she could respond, a low chuckle echoed in his mind.
“Oh, for hell’s sake,” N'Zol scoffed. “Look at it. It’s trying to hide.”
Sure enough, Erik spotted the edges of a black cloak sticking out from behind the boulder. The material shifted awkwardly, as if the figure behind it was too big for his chosen hiding spot.
And then, a blinding glint—light bouncing off something shiny—caught Erik's eye. His gaze fixed on the source: the handle of an enormous silver ax that jutted out from under the cloak, reflecting the sun like a beacon in the quiet woods.
“I swear,” N'Zol muttered, “I’ve seen worse attempts at stealth, but this? This is something special. Does it really think no one can see that shiny monstrosity?”
Erik found himself nodding in agreement, something that rarely happened when N'Zol spoke. “not exactly subtle,” Erik muttered.
Vesper, her eyes narrowing, unsheathed her sword. “Let’s see what its up to.”
Before they could approach, the figure suddenly leaped from behind the boulder—a massive man, easily twice Erik’s size, cloaked in black. His face was mostly hidden beneath the hood, but his size was impossible to miss. Despite his bulk, he moved with surprising speed, his cloak billowing dramatically as he swung the enormous silver ax with a wide, sweeping arc.
Vesper barely managed to dodge, her sword flashing as she parried the strike. The impact of metal on metal rang through the air, and Vesper’s eyes widened as the sheer force of the blow reverberated down her arms.
“What the—!” she gasped, stepping back, her muscles straining from the clash.
The stranger, who clearly had assassin-like agility despite his size, advanced again, his movements unnervingly fast for a man wielding such a massive weapon. The ax gleamed in the sunlight, its silver blade too bright to be practical in any kind of stealth. It was as if the weapon itself was mocking his attempts at subtlety.
Vesper darted to the side, the next blow crashing into the ground where she’d just stood. The blade cleaved through a boulder as if it were nothing more than paper, splitting it cleanly in two. She stared in shock as the rock crumbled into pieces.
“What kind of ax is that?” she breathed, regaining her stance.
Erik, readying himself to intervene, watched the man closely. His size and speed were impressive enough, but the ax—it wasn’t just any weapon. There was something unnatural about the way the the air and very reality seemed to shift around it, its swings gaining impossible momentum as if the ax controlled the very weight of the air itself.
“I can’t wait to see what happens when he misses. You better hope that thing doesn’t hit you—there won’t be anything left to bury.” N'Zol whispered gleefully.
Erik tightened his grip on his sword, prepared to jump in, but something about the man’s movements gave him pause. This wasn’t a simple ambush. There was something almost... reluctant in the way the stranger fought.
Vesper seemed to realize it at the same time. She dodged another powerful swing, then suddenly stopped in her tracks, her chest heaving from the exertion. “Wait!” she called out, holding up her hand.
The cloaked figure paused mid-swing, the silver ax gleaming menacingly in the dappled sunlight. Vesper eyed the man warily, still catching her breath.
“Why are you attacking us?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Were you waiting for us?”
The man hesitated, then slowly stood up straight, disengaging from his attack stance. With one hand, he made an exaggerated gesture—cocking his hand left and right, as if considering the question. Then, with a shrug, he offered a nonchalant “maybe,” without saying a word.
Vesper blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”
The man shrugged again, raising his hands and mimicking a monstrous growl, gesturing vaguely toward the trees, as if to suggest he thought they were the monsters. Then he sighed heavily, sitting down on a nearby log, seemingly frustrated with the entire situation.
Erik, still tense, approached cautiously. The demon was laughing uncontrollably now. “This guy... this giant lug! Look at that ax! It’s like he missed the entire point of stealth!”
Erik couldn’t help but agree. He glanced at the ax again, and his system immediately triggered another identification:
[Demon Executioner Ax of the Divine Assassin] Effect: Authority over gravity within the blade’s momentum. Warning: Demonic Influence Detected.
Erik blinked, his mind trying to process the absurdity of it. “What?” he muttered aloud. “A Demon Executioner Ax... of a Divine Assassin?”
N'Zol practically howled with laughter. “An executioner’s ax... for an assassin! What kind of assassin needs an ax that big? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point?”
Vesper, catching her breath, finally looked at the ax as well. She shook her head in exasperation. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
He shrugged again, looking somewhat sheepish under his hood. He didn’t seem to be much for words, but his expression—what little could be seen—seemed to indicate he wasn’t here to kill them. At least, not intentionally.
Vesper sheathed her sword, her breath finally evening out. “You’re... not very good at this, are you?”
The man didn’t answer, simply gesturing toward the ax with a shrug, as if to say, It is what it is.
Erik, still gripping his sword but lowering it slightly, exchanged a glance with Vesper then glanced glanced at the man’s massive ax, its silver gleam still catching the sunlight. “What’s your name?” Erik asked, watching him closely.
The man shifted slightly, pulling back his hood. “Bern,” he muttered.
“Bern what?” Vesper asked, stepping closer.
“Bernhardt Reidl,” the man replied, his voice low but not unfriendly.
Erik relaxed slightly, though his hand remained near his sword. “Where are you headed, Bernhardt?”
The man gave a vague gesture toward the path ahead, as if to say that way. Erik couldn’t help but smirk.
“Not exactly talkative, are you?” Erik asked
Bernhardt shrugged again, his massive frame shifting under the cloak.
N'Zol, still gleeful, chimed in. “Oh, we’ve got a real talker here! Maybe we should ask him about his childhood. See if he has a favorite pastry or something!”
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the dense canopy of trees as Erik and Vesper trudged forward. The tension from their earlier encounters with eldritch creatures lingered between them, though the path ahead seemed calm—for now.
“We need somewhere safe,” Vesper said, breaking the silence. “I know a place not too far from here. It’s hidden, protected... the kind of place where we can take shelter and figure out what’s happening.”
Erik glanced at her, curious. “Where is it?”
“An old temple,” she explained, “carved into the side of a mountain. Most people don’t go that way because the journey is difficult, but it’s close, and once we’re inside, it’s nearly impossible to breach.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “Sounds promising. Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”
Vesper hesitated, her fingers brushing against the hilt of her sword. “Because it’s not a place I take just anyone.” Her words hung in the air for a moment, making the decision feel more intimate than he’d expected. “It’s where I was trained, where I became... who I am. Taking someone there is like—well, it’s not something I’d do lightly.”
Vesper sighed “It’s the kind of training that breaks you down, builds you back up. Days spent standing beneath a waterfall that flows from a glacier—freezing, bone-chilling. The only way to survive is to find strength in divinity.”
She spoke calmly, but the memories seemed to darken her gaze. Erik felt a knot in his stomach. “Sounds less like training and more like torture.”
Vesper gave a small, almost wistful smile. “In a way, it is. But it’s about more than surviving. It’s about proving that your strength in divinity is absolute. If you can endure that, you can endure anything.”
Erik’s demon chuckled in his mind. “Oh, this sounds wonderful for someone like you, Erik. Divine strength, divine tests... Let’s see how that plays out with me in here.”
As the conversation continued, Vesper offered details of the area and the history of the temple and how it originated, the topics of discussion became sparse and eventually drifted into silence, Erik noticed something strange: Berndhart was no longer walking ahead of them. The hulking man, who’d been silent for most of the journey, had vanished without a trace.
Stolen story; please report.
“Where did Berndhart go?” Erik asked, scanning the treeline.
Vesper frowned, looking around. “He was just ahead of us...”
Before they could react, the sky above them darkened. With a tremendous screech, something massive fell from the sky, crashing into the earth with a thundering impact. A giant eldritch bird lay motionless on the path before them, a massive silver ax embedded in its chest.
Dust filled the air, and then, floating down with an eerie grace, came Berndhart. His black cloak billowed as he landed lightly, despite his size, as if he weighed nothing.
“Well, look who’s back. And with a dramatic entrance, no less.” N’Zol said as he broke the broke the silence within Eriks mind.
Vesper’s hand instinctively went to her sword, her posture tense as she watched Berndhart pull his ax from the bird’s carcass. The thing twitched—its body slowly reanimating, dark energy crackling through its veins.
Before Vesper could move, Erik’s demon-imbued hand reacted, Sin Eater activating as the grotesque maw opened wide, pulling the eldritch energy from the bird. The dark power surged into Erik, and his entire body tensed as the energy swirled through him, his muscles straining from the force of it.
Berndhart’s eyes widened beneath his hood. His foot slammed into the earth, energy crackling around him as he assumed a defensive stance. The ground beneath him seemed to shift, the twigs and leaves swirling toward his boots as they began to glow.
“Berndhart, wait!” Erik called, but it was too late. The sudden surge of energy left Erik stronger than he realized, and as Berndhart charged, Erik’s reflexes kicked in. He swung with his demon-imbued fist, connecting with the ax.
The impact sent Berndhart flying backward. Trees shattered in his wake as he crashed into a large boulder with a resounding thud, creating a crater in the earth.
Erik blinked, breathing hard, as the demon inside him chuckled nervously. “Oh... right. Forgot to mention that absorbing all that eldritch energy gives you a temporary strength boost.”
Vesper stood frozen, her sword half-raised, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
Berndhart groaned, pushing himself up from the debris. He dusted himself off as if he’d merely slipped and fell, his massive frame seemingly unharmed. With slow, deliberate movements, he started walking toward Erik again, his expression unreadable beneath his hood.
Erik panicked. “I don’t want to fight you!” Desperate, he fumbled into his pouch and pulled out some dried fish, tossing it toward Berndhart in a last-ditch attempt to diffuse the situation, not knowing what else to do with their new acquaintance.
Berndhart caught the fish mid-air, glancing at it curiously. He gave Erik a reassuring nod and a thumbs-up before taking a bite. His eyes immediately widened in horror as he gagged, spitting the fish out and doubling over, retching into the bushes.
Vesper, who had watched the entire interaction with a mixture of disbelief and confusion, finally spoke. “I... I need to find some normal people to be around.” She turned, sword still drawn, and marched toward the mountain path, muttering to herself.
Erik, meanwhile, stood awkwardly with Berndhart, who wiped his mouth and rummaged through his cloak. From it, he pulled a brown bottle with a cork, featuring a grinning skeleton with horned helmets on the label. Without a word, Berndhart uncorked it and chugged the bottle’s contents before tossing it at Erik.
The liquid splashed over Erik, and he grimaced as he took a cautious sip. The taste was revolting, a mix of old molasses, dried blood, and honey. Trying not to offend Berndhart, Erik forced a smile and poured some of the liquid over his demon hand unsure if Berndart understood what exactly Erik had within his hand aside from a mouth that ate.
N’Zol let out an indignant string of demonic curses, most of which Erik couldn’t fully understand.
Berndhart, meanwhile, laughed heartily, his large white teeth flashing beneath a scraggly beard. Erik couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a strange camaraderie with the man and the absurdity that throwing fish, vomiting and then drinking afterwards was a bonding experience in its own right.
A system message flashed before Erik’s eyes:
[You have consumed Viking Blood.] Attributes gained:
Brotherhood of Mead: Resistance to minor poison, resistance to mild mental attacks.
Weakness gained: Fish. Any fish taste or smell will remove all positive effects. Best consumed warm and after intense physical activity. Brewed by the Reidl family.
Erik sighed, glancing back at the dried fish he’d tossed to Berndhart. “Great.”
Berndhart gave him another thumbs-up, and Erik muttered, “Euhhh,” while Berndhart let out a loud burp and started rummaging through his cloak again, seemingly unbothered by the chaos.
Vesper, far ahead, called back, “Let’s move! I’m not sticking around while you two bond over dead birds and fish
As they approached the temple, Vesper’s memories flooded back in vivid detail. The familiar scents of earth and worn stone filled her senses, transporting her back to her early days of training. The narrow pathways where she had marched endlessly stretched before them, worn smooth by generations of paladins. She glanced at the towering trees—ones she had been forced to climb in search of imaginary eggs during a cruel survival exercise. She remembered the hunger, the exhaustion, and the determination that had defined her days here.
The temple’s grey walls, which descended into a moat, were just as she remembered them. The stillness of the water was broken only by the occasional ripple, its surface reflecting the towering structure above. And then her gaze traveled upward to the flags. Most hung limp in the still air, silent and dormant. But one flag—a yellow banner with a bright white circle and a blue star—flapped violently in the wind, as if alive with purpose. It was the flag of the paladins, and it always flew higher than the rest.
As they crossed the clearing leading toward the temple, Erik slowed his pace. His eyes scanned the structure ahead, his expression unreadable. "We should camp here," he said finally, his voice quiet. “Near the outskirts, someplace out of sight.”
Vesper nodded. She could sense the weight of his hesitation, his reluctance to step into a place so steeped in divinity. “There’s a spot nearby,” she said, leading them toward a dried riverbed. The creek that remained trickled softly, creating a soothing sound that contrasted with the tension in the air. A large boulder stood nearby, providing shelter and quick access to a field beyond. The smell of rich, fertile earth filled the area, bringing with it a sense of life and growth.
But Erik wasn’t comforted by the feeling. Instead, unease settled in the pit of his stomach as the demonic essence inside him stirred. The life around him felt too pure, too untouched by darkness. His hand, imbued with N'Zol's presence, twitched, and he could feel the demon's hunger to consume, to take in the vitality that surrounded them.
Vesper began setting up her camp with practiced ease, though her gaze flickered now and then to the temple’s walls, as if drawn back to her past. Berndhart, as usual, remained silent, though he positioned himself near the creek, leaning against the boulder with an almost casual ease.
As Erik set down his pack, his status screen blinked to life in his peripheral vision:
Status Update: Health: 95% Stamina: 80% Demonic Energy: 65% Primal Energy: 50%
New Skill Unlocked: Eldritch Conversion
Effect: Absorb residual eldritch energy from enemies and convert it into temporary strength. Prolonged absorption may grant temporary abilities linked to the absorbed entity.
Erik blinked at the display, his muscles still tingling with the aftereffects of the last absorption. The power that surged within him felt potent, but he could also feel the cost—every time he absorbed more, he edged a little further from control.
N’Zol, sensing his thoughts, whispered slyly. “Getting stronger, are we? But for how long, I wonder?”
Erik closed his eyes, the weight of the choices ahead pressing down on him. His journey had only just begun, but already, the path ahead seemed fraught with danger—and he wasn’t even sure who the real enemy was anymore.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows through the forest, the trio began settling into their makeshift camp. The tall pine trees stood sentinel around them, their trunks thick and evenly spaced, evidence that this forest had once been cut down, long ago. The ground beneath their feet was covered in pine needles, soft and springy, with only small shrubs and struggling vegetation pushing up through the gaps, trying to grasp any slivers of sunlight that broke through the dense canopy.
Berndhart, always quiet, casually tossed his massive frame down against a patch of earth near the boulder and stretched out, his cloak shifting around him like a second skin. Despite his size, he had a strange grace about him. He removed his ax and placed it by his side, resting it gently as if it were an old companion. With a deep sigh, he folded his arms behind his head, settling in as though the wilderness was his second home.
Erik, meanwhile, knelt near the creek, gathering sticks and dried pine needles for the fire. The sound of trickling water nearby was soothing, yet it didn’t quiet the tension he felt. After a few attempts with flint and steel, Erik, ever determined, waved his demon hand over the pile of twigs.
“I can do this,” he muttered to himself, focusing on the idea of conjuring flame. His demon stirred in his mind, half-interested.
“Magic fire, huh?” N’Zol snickered. “You know that’s not exactly in your skill set yet.”
“Just watch,” Erik muttered back, though his voice lacked confidence. He waved his hand again, but nothing happened.
Berndhart watched out of the corner of his eye, his large form barely moving except for the quiet rise and fall of his breath. A low chuckle rumbled from him, though he said nothing.
Frustrated, Erik sighed and resorted to using the flint again. “Fine,” he muttered, striking sparks until finally, a small flame began to flicker, catching the dry needles.
Vesper, clearly amused by the entire scene, stood and strapped her sword to her back. She glanced at the soggy-looking satchel Erik carried, full of dried fish, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’ll go find something for dinner,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not touching whatever you’ve got in that thing. And definitely not drinking whatever Berndhart’s carrying.”
Erik chuckled softly, glancing over at Berndhart, who lay silently sipping from his large, suspicious-looking flask. The big man raised it briefly in salute but made no comment, content with his own company.
As Vesper disappeared into the forest, Erik turned his attention to their surroundings. The pines were tall and impressive, their trunks thick with age, yet they were all the same height, a curious detail that had caught his attention earlier. This wasn’t a natural forest—it had been cut down once, the uniformity of the trees speaking of an ancient past. The air felt heavy, laden with the weight of forgotten battles and scars.
The history of this place was known to him now, through fragments of stories and what Vesper had shared. This forest had stood as a battlefield long ago when a demonic force, led by a corrupted sorcerer, had tried to seize control of the land. The sorcerer had trained in the very temple they were now camped near—its stones once soaked in the dark arts. After a fierce and bloody battle, the Paladin Knights had taken over the temple, driving out the sorcerer and his minions while purifying the temple and its grounds at the same time.
The trees that had once fallen in that war had regrown, but the place still carried the weight of its past.
Erik gazed at the distant temple, a sense of unease settling in his chest. The realization that it had once been a den of demonic energy made him curious, but the thought left him unsettled. He let his mind wander, and without much hesitation, he reached inward.
Erik began, addressing N’Zol. "How exactly do they purify demonic energy? I mean, what does it actually take to do something like that?"
The demon stirred, sounding almost irritated as his voice slithered into Erik’s thoughts. "You’re asking me how humans purify demonic energy? That’s rich. But since you’re clearly in over your head, I’ll indulge you... for a moment."
N’Zol’s tone, initially condescending, shifted slightly, as if even the demon found the subject interesting enough to warrant an explanation.
"First off, it’s not as simple as waving a magic hand," N’Zol continued. "You can’t just erase demonic energy—it’s entrenched, part of the very fabric of a place once it's been there long enough. To purify it, you need to isolate and identify every trace of it. That means heightening your senses, sharpening them to pick up the smallest presence of demonic essence. The longer it’s been somewhere, the deeper it’s embedded, and the harder it is to extract."
Erik furrowed his brow, still not fully grasping what N’Zol meant. "So how do you ‘heighten your senses’ to detect all that?"
"For someone like you?" N’Zol sighed, clearly exasperated. "You’d have to project your mind outward, sending out energy through the surrounding area. It’s like casting a net—sending signals through magic and demonic energy to ‘touch’ anything that resonates with the same dark essence. The more powerful or recent the presence, the stronger the ‘feel or touch.’ But that’s the easy part. The hard part? Trying to locate older, entrenched sources. They’re quieter, more subtle, harder to detect, and far more difficult to cleanse."
N'Zol paused, the irritation fading as something clicked. "But this place... it’s not normal. There’s something here at second glance." As the demonic eye in Eriks head moved on its own accord toward the temple.
“Stop that!” Erik put a hand up to his eye covering it in an attempt to make his eye stop moving on its own.
Erik felt the demon shift within him, a low hum vibrating through his senses. N’Zol’s voice lowered, as if he were piecing together a puzzle. "There’s a massive demonic presence in that temple. I can feel it now, but..."
"But what?" Erik asked, leaning forward slightly as if the demon’s voice were just out of reach.
"It’s... covered," N’Zol said slowly, the amusement in his voice replaced by genuine intrigue. "The divinity in that temple—it’s masking it. There’s an equal amount of divine energy layered over the demonic presence, almost perfectly balanced. It’s why it’s so hard to detect at first. The paladins didn’t just purify this place... they layered their power on top of the demonic energy, keeping it sealed. If someone who was purifying it thought their work was done, they’d see nothing change. But the truth is, the demonic essence is still there—everywhere. It’s woven into the walls, the ground, the very stones of the place."
Erik’s stomach twisted at the thought, but he remained silent, listening closely, having images of the runic symbols and sigils at the Eldretich temple back in Ebonfiled
"This means," N’Zol continued, his voice almost gleeful now, "that if someone were trying to purify this temple completely, the power needed would be astronomical. The demonic presence is so deeply ingrained that even the greatest cleanse would struggle to make a dent." The demon let out a low chuckle. "That’s not just corruption... that’s art."
Erik swallowed hard, considering the implications. "So... what’s in there?"
"No idea," N’Zol admitted, his tone still filled with dark excitement. "But now I’m curious. If you want to get a clearer picture, you’ll need to expand your senses—project your mind outward like I said. It’s not easy for someone at your tiny level, but with a little push, you could send out your energy out like a big boy and let it reflect back anything demonic or eldritch in the area."
Erik frowned. "And what happens if there’s a lot of it?"
N’Zol chuckled. "Oh, there’s a lot. This place is crawling with remnants of something ancient, something powerful. You might be able to feel it if you push hard enough... But whether you can control what you find or whether it consumes you? Well, that’s the fun part, isn’t it?"
Erik felt a chill run down his spine. He knew N’Zol wasn’t exaggerating. This temple was more than just a relic of the past—it was a test. And whether he was ready or not, it would soon test him in ways he couldn’t yet understand.
The fire flickered low, casting long shadows across the campsite as Erik sat quietly, his thoughts now swirling with the weight of what lay ahead.
He shivered slightly, even though the air was still warm. The crackling of the small fire provided a meager comfort, but the unease didn’t leave him.
The sun continued to set, and shadows stretched longer across the ground. Erik glanced over at Berndhart, who was still lounging by the boulder, seemingly unbothered by the sinister history of the place. His large, dark eyes stared into the distance, the ax beside him gleaming faintly in the fading light.
“You seem... at home here,” Erik said, breaking the silence.
Berndhart shifted slightly, glancing toward Erik, then gave a noncommittal grunt. He didn’t seem like the type to engage in long conversations.
Erik sighed, sitting back as the fire crackled softly. He picked at the remains of the dried fish in his satchel, barely nibbling on it. Vesper was right. They needed better food.
The darkness of the night had settled over the forest, with the tall pines standing like silent sentinels against the backdrop of the starless sky. The fire Erik had finally coaxed to life crackled softly, casting flickering light and shadows on the ground, offering just enough warmth to fend off the evening chill. Vesper returned quietly, her footsteps barely disturbing the pine needles beneath her boots. She held three rabbits and two small birds by their legs, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light.
Without a word, she knelt by the fire and pulled a small pot from her bag. Erik and Berndhart watched as she expertly cleaned the animals, cutting them into pieces and tossing them into the pot. A few herbs and some root vegetables soon followed. As the pot began to bubble, the rich, savory aroma of stewing meat filled the air, blending with the scent of the pine needles and earth around them. The smell of freshly prepared food was a welcome contrast to the dried fish Erik had been carrying, and it wasn’t long before their new companion stirred from his resting spot.
Berndhart rose from his comfortable position, his cloak falling away as he reached for his flask of Viking Blood. With a grunt, he ambled over to the fire, the light illuminating his broad, weathered face as he took a seat beside Erik. He offered a grin, his white teeth flashing in the firelight, and took a swig from the flask before sitting back down, clearly pleased with the smell of the meal Vesper was preparing.
The night air was thick with the scent of stewing meat, dried sweat, and the faint musk of the forest floor. A soft breeze stirred the trees, rustling the pine needles overhead and cooling the sweat on their brows, though visibility was limited with the sun long gone. The firelight created a bubble of warmth and light in the otherwise dark and foreboding wilderness.
The three of them sat in relative silence, their eyes fixed on the steaming pot, watching the steam curl into the night air, enticed by the promise of a hot meal after a long day. The firelight flickered over their faces, creating a moment of quiet camaraderie as they each enjoyed the temporary stillness.
As the food simmered, Berndhart suddenly broke the silence. His deep voice, surprisingly melodic, began to recite a poem, his words rolling smoothly off his tongue as he leaned closer to the fire.
“We battle by day, and we drink by night,
We fight with steel, and train with might.
Through fields of blood, and skies of flame,
We warriors stand, forever the same.
We drink for the dead, the lost, the gone,
And toast to the battles yet to come.
Raise your flask, your sword, your heart,
For the fight begins anew, and we each play our part."
His words hung in the air, carried by the wind as the fire popped and hissed. The rhythmic cadence of the poem seemed to fill the space between them, stirring something deep within Erik and Vesper. It was a warrior’s tale, but also a promise—a reminder that battles, both physical and internal, would always await them. It set the tone for the nights ahead, for the challenges that loomed, as if to remind them all that this was only the beginning.
Berndhart, eyes alight with a strange gleam, raised his bottle again, offering it to Vesper first. She hesitated, looking at the dark liquid that had repulsed Erik earlier, but after a moment, she shrugged and muttered, "Fuck it."
She took a long swig of the Viking Blood, her face contorting briefly as the strong, bitter taste hit her tongue. But she swallowed it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and passing the flask to Erik with a smirk.
The taste was an assault on the senses—old molasses, dried blood, and something faintly sweet, like honey that had gone bad. Erik grimaced but didn’t hesitate to take a smaller sip, feeling the thick liquid burn as it slid down his throat.
Berndhart laughed heartily, clearly enjoying their reactions, and settled back into his spot by the fire, clearly pleased with his contribution to the night's mood. As the night wore on and the meal in the pot neared completion, the three of them sat in companionable silence, the firelight flickering over their faces as they prepared for whatever tomorrow might bring.
Though the wind was soft and the forest quiet, there was a tension in the air that hinted at the trials to come. But for now, the warmth of the fire, the smell of cooking meat, and the shared drink offered a small respite from the looming challenges they all knew awaited them.