“Shields up!” I bellowed, pacing before the line of bronze-skinned warriors. Two lines of the hardest men you could find in Hell.
“Shields up!” 3rd Battalion echoed, feet digging into the earth as they hefted their golden defenders. Spears locked into rests, swords poised to strike, and every eye fixed on the oncoming horde.
I liked my lips and grinned.
“The Tide takes no sons today!”
“The Steel Bastion holds eternal!” My Seven Hundred roared as they had the day before, and the day before that.
The ground trembled beneath our boots and I looked to the scorched horizon then back at the two lines of veteran defenders.
No son dies today.
The vast cavern stretching into the bowels of hell bellowed as it spewed its demonic swarm at our gates. Plated hands tightened around shield handles. A whisper surged through the ranks, a promise, then laughter, and finally a promise in return. The words reached me last for I was Shieldfather and such was hell.
“A thousand, Saidan Thun promises, I hear.”Laughter broke out along the two golden lines.
“A thousand he will deliver!” I cried and seven hundred weapons clanked against seven hundred shields. Behind the lines a single robed man stood raising his feather.
“A thousand, Saidan Thun promises.” The Killreader said then noted down Thun’s words into the Book of Cycles.
“Two thousand Shieldfather must take.” The ancient warrior who now served as scribe nodded at me confidently and so he should. I was Shieldfather and such was Hell.
A tide of ungodly monsters loomed on the horizon, their twisted forms bristling with talons, barbs, horns, and leathery wings. The stench of their decay and burning flesh filled the air, thick and choking. I licked my lips and grinned.
“Angel Arbiter, son of Kold. What death have you wrought today?” The Breathweavers began their song upon the parapet as they had the day before and all the days before that. I whispered the words alongside their holy voices.
“What sorrow and bile, what hatred will find its death upon shield and blade?”
The Tide came in like an avalanche of rotted skin, and burning manes. Thousands upon thousands as they did the day before, and all the days before that.
I raised my shield high and slammed it into the tormented earth unleashing a golden wave that ignited the warriors around me with Ra’een’s light.
The full fury of Hell’s hearth crashed into us. Carcassbulls and hornhawkers, rattleyes and bilescreamers, clawed and bellowed, spat and bit, and flung their monstrous faces at our blades.
But before I could take the first head on my way to fulffil my promise, a blinding white light engulfed me, stealing my breath. I gasped, but the air would not come to my lungs. Vision would not return. My body would not hear my rage. I hung suspended in a void as seconds ticked by and turned into what felt like an eternity. A milky fog closed in around me, silencing the grand war and everything else.
“Am I… dead?” I muttered, panic rising as I struggled for breath that would not come. “Where are my—this isn’t Hell!”
My heart thundered like a stampede of dreadborn, threatening to tear me apart from the inside. Desperation clawed at me.
“Where am I? Where are my Shieldsons? You demon spawn! Show yourself so I might grant you a swift death!”
The milky fog whispered unholy chants and an old man appeared before me, his voice a low, relentless murmur. He didn’t even look me in the eye as he continued his chant, every step of his pure torture.
“What is this, you demon? Where am I? Take me back!” I yelled and tried to move toward him, but I was rooted in place by the sheer power of his very being.
“You’re a long way from Hell, Shieldfather,” the old man finally said, his voice edged with steel and the weight of a bloody past. I needed no more to recognize a killer, and this ancient, hooded figure had taken many lives—many, many times.
Though I wished nothing more than to ram my thumbs down his eyesockets and pull his witching head from his neck, I steadied my hand and practiced patience. No one should call a Shieldfather hasty, not even this dreadful creature.
“You will find your way, Shieldfather,” the stranger claimed with an almost prescient confidence that threatened to burn a hole in my heart.
Patience, I told myself, letting out a deep, slow breath that didn’t do much to steady my rage. What ruinous day had come to pass that this witching demon, this wyrm-tongued fallow singer dared to lecture a Shieldfather.
Patience, I told myself, pressing my nails ever deeper into my palms and feeling my knuckles tense. My teeth gnashed as I tried to exude patience.
Study your ground, the Steelspeakers taught us, so with one eye on the old man, I looked around.
The walls shimmered in shades of white and grey. We seemed to be in a pocket of something I could hardly understand. I carefully pushed my hand through, never removing my eyes from the witcher. A freezing cold bit my hand and I quickly pulled it back, wincing in pain. This was magic, unlike anything the Steelspeakers knew. Demonic, certainly; the spawns of Hell had really outdone themselves this time.
The old man tapped his long white fingers against the head of a golden cane. The clatter of bony knuckles was like a call to attention.
He beckons me like a child.
His indolence was ripe for bloody justice, but I was Shieldfather and no demon would strip me of grace.
Study your enemy, the Steelspeakers claimed so I did.
The hooded ancient was robed in thick red colors, somewhat hunched but broad of shoulders. There was a casual air about him, the same kind of sinful serendipity I could see in our elders. But that was not all.
I stepped forward and felt my body cross a threshold I was not supposed to. My bones began to ache and a mere dull pain built up so quickly that it threatened to overcome me. The old man hadn’t spoken nor moved, but he knew very well what he was doing.
“Wyrm words will not stop me,” I said, trying to sound calm and steady, though I felt I hadn’t uttered the truth, but rather wishful thinking. I hated the weakness in my soul, a wound deeper than any blisterspear could deal upon flesh.
My threats had no impact on the old man. Curious, demons seldom practiced restrained.
I took another long hard look at the witcher before I stepped back. The pain washed away almost immediately.
I was at least a head taller than that gnarly apparition and twice as wide, and yet every instinct in me called for caution.
Study the intent, I repeated the teachings of the Steelspeakers, but there was one question boiling up in my mind and drowning out all the others.
“Am I dead?” I finally asked.
“Oh, yes,” the old man replied. For a moment I felt my body relax and even laughter fill the globe of night. I cleared my throat and spat on the sand.
So you finally found me, Ta’neer, Angel Arbiter. Good. I will make a glorious statue in the Domain of History.
“I mean… in some sense. Have you died? No, but is everything you know gone? Yes, very much so.”
There was no mistaking the intent. Mockery. How pathetic. It was a demon’s first and last resort.
“What have you done, hellspawn?” I growled tightening my fists again. Patience had to wait.
I was naked, trapped in a shroud of darkness with a creature of immense power. The weight of my shield still lingered in my grasp like the last words of a dying brother, but I would still fight. I was Shieldfather and he was a demon, there was no other end to such a story, such was Hell and everything else.
“I have done what needed to be done. Remember that, Shieldfather. Always.”
As soon as he spewed his cryptic words, he extended his other hand toward me. A small globe of light hovered there for a moment before a searing white fire enveloped the old man. All I could do was cover my eyes as the witch disappeared, leaving nothing but the stench of brimstone behind.
The sand where he had stood turned to glass.
I knelt and looked at the still-smoking spot for a moment.
“Fire magic, mockery, illusions…” I muttered. “The marks of a demon prince,” I stood, eyes still glued to the sand. A dark thought made even darker by my ignorance. A demon prince, yes, but which one?
I tapped the spot three times with my left foot, three times with my right, and finally spat on the smoldering glass. Whether the ancient rites would do any good was debatable, but they had to be done anyway.
It couldn’t hurt.
With the black mist now gone, I felt a searing pain seep into my red eyes. Merciless light enveloped me as if a thousand torches had been lit. Countless cycles in the depths of Hell had made a Shieldfather’s eyes adept at piercing the darkness, finding even the smallest, skittering earcrawler demons snaking up the walls. For this, there was only one explanation and I dreaded it more than a thousand earcrawlers.
“The sun,” I muttered, my eyes yet aflame. Never had I thought I would stand before it. Shivers ran down my spine as a vile breeze washed over me. So many books spoke of the sun, so many paintings showed it a raging ball of fire, and yet it did little to warm my bronze body.
I forced a peek through half-closed lids, more listening than seeing. A vast blue body of water slowly came into view. Beams of light reflected off the azure wave. The lazy surf of the sea punctuated by the occasional squawk of birds echoed in my ears. It was nothing like the books conveyed, nothing like the images on the walls of the Domain of History.
It had beauty to it, but it was nothing like Hell. The only home I ever knew. I scratched the scar at my neck, a gift from a tenlife demon’s cleaver-arm. The deepest wound I had ever suffered. It always itched when my soul was searching for answers.
“Hello there!” a croaky voice to my left called, startling me from this fleeting moment of confusing tranquility.
At the far end of a small pier stood yet another old man, much smaller than the previous one with a large net slung over his shoulder. A tiny, pitiful sight but no less arrogant than the hellish royalty before him.
“Another demon,” I hissed through my teeth. I’ve known demon magic all my life and there was no doubt this was yet another expression of the same.
The demon with his fire magic, this illusion of the overworld, and now this creature daring to beckon me, a Shieldfather! As if it couldn’t tell I’m a Varian Lord. The marks of corruption were everywhere.
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The trained constraint of my mind gave way to the rage in my heart. This charade had to end. The Bastion was waiting for me. I couldn’t waste another minute out here in the cold of this sunny beach. I needed to get back in line at the Gates of Hell where the Shieldsons awaited my orders.
I closed the distance to the pier quickly, though not as quickly as I was used to. I ran barefoot over the splinter-rich planks, then grabbed the old man by the neck and raised him off his feet. Pain shot through my muscles suddenly and I felt I was struggling to keep the man up. I tried my best not to show, but a moment later I dropped him down to the rotten planks again.
“Of course,” I said, my voice ripe with disdain, “Just as I thought. Beneath this barrow, pathetic skin you hide your true self, demon. Reveal yourself to me! Now!”
The fisherman gasped for air with horror in his eyes. He crawled away from me, rubbing his neck and raising an empty bucket for protection. The show of weakness angered me even more.
“Stop pretending, demon. Your time has come.”
“I’m Godfrey, sir… Godfrey,” the man claimed. “I’m no demon, I swear on me wife!”
“Lies,” I said in a half-whisper.
Frustration led my hands around the fisherman’s collar again and I raised him to eye level. The bucket rolled away and dropped into the cold waters of the sea.
“How are you so heavy, Godfrey?” I asked turning every word into a threat.
Even for demons, this kind of illusion magic was unthinkable. Unlike the other old man, this one didn’t radiate power, only the stench of sweat and fish came off his rugged, brown appearance.
“How am I heavy?” the trickster demon asked. “I’m not… I’m all skin and bones, please!”
It was then that I felt a warm sensation on my bare feet and quickly realized that this Godfrey creature had pissed himself.
I grunted and lowered the man down again. For a moment, it almost seemed he was telling the truth. Demons didn’t piss themselves in fear. Demons didn’t piss at all. Well, except for pisshaulers, of course.
Godfrey truly was nothing but bone and skin and yet he felt as heavy as a worggobbler, perhaps even a hornhawker demon.
“You truly are nothing but bone and sickly skin,” I concluded fearing demonic corruption within my own mind.
“I am, sir. Look at this!” Godfrey said pulling his shirt up to reveal his hairy ribs.
“Hide your shame, old man,” I told him and the fisherman rolled his shirt down quickly.
“Do you not see me?”
“I…see ye, son. Yer big.”
“Hm,” I frowned.
It was a mark of disrespect to show one’s weak stature in the light of a Shieldfather. Though there were many other things on my mind, I still found it important to stress this.
“Need I remind you, old man, that your skin is pink and white and bruises in light winds, while mine is bronze and golden like the rivers of Ungorth?”
“Uhm…yes?”
“Do you not see that my hair is black like the nether night and as rich as the First Father’s wisdom? That these knots take our Wellmothers hours each night and each morning so that no hair should strain the vision of the Shieldson behind me?”
“You…You have very nice hair, sir –.”
“While yours is but a speck of pitiful hey glued to a translucent skull.”
“Yes…” The fisherman said rubbing his head.
“And your feeble, stick-like arms! They offend the gods, Godfrey!”
Godfrey looked at his arms and shrugged.
“Look at my arms, bulging with glorious muscles! Flesh made steel against thousands of demons. I’m Shieldfather, Godfrey, a Varian Lord of the Steel Bastion.”
“Very…good, sir.”
I eyed the fisherman suspiciously. His words were in the right place, but his heart wasn’t in it. The admiration, I felt, was steeped either in fear or trickery.
“Then explain to me, how you are so heavy?” I expected little in terms of honesty from this wretched fiend, but alas, I had to learn of my surroundings before I would step further into this madness.
“Perhaps…and no offense, perhaps you need to get a bit stronger?” Godfrey grabbed for the bucket again but it was gone so he braced for a slap at the least, but nothing came.
“You dare!” I growled. “I have strangled firewings and duskravers alike. I have torn eyes out of dozeneyed stinkwafters, crushed the skulls of mammothscreamers, and plucked the horns off carcassbulls, and yet you dare say I’m weak? What have you crushed with your own hands?“
Godfrey looked at his palms for a moment and sighed.
“Only my dreams.”
We stood there in silence for a moment as a salty breeze washed over us.
My gaze wandered across the vast waters and beyond, and then I felt the shivers again, not only because of the soft breeze.
“No,” I muttered as my heart sank.
“No?” The old man asked.
I clenched my teeth and fists. A realization had struck me like a fireball to the face. In the top right corner of my vision, there was a change. A horrendous, unimaginable change.
Where once the number 99 hovered as a testament to my many cycles at the gates, to rivers of blood spilled upon the scorching rocks of the Bulwark, to endless demon waves crashing against the shields of the Varian Cohort, now a different number stood.
“I’m not…level 1,” I gasped, the painful realization setting in. “What is going on? Why? And how?”
“Well, of course you are,” the fisherman said, raising his hands again in fear of retaliation, but seeing none came, he continued. “Most of you who wash up on this beach are level 1.”
I could say nothing for a while. I remembered the teachings of the Steelspeakers who taught Shieldsons and Shieldfathers alike that no demonic force, no matter how powerful, could interfere with the Soulforge, and yet here it was. Changed, weakened, and drained of a lifetime of excellence.
“How am I not dead then,” I said, my voice barely audible.
A lifetime of impeccable service in the light of the First Father. Uncountable demon tides deflected against my Indominus Shield, so much death… and now? What sin had I committed that the gods would punish me so mercilessly?
“What is this?” I said turning to Godfrey.
“What, sir? What is what?”
“This!” I snapped, raising my hands as if to encompass all of reality.
“The…the beach,” the fisherman explained. “Crab Beach.”
“Crab Beach,” I repeated halfheartedly. “I see, and then this must be an ocean, is it?” I demanded angrily. Godfrey looked over his shoulder and then back at me. He nodded pretending to be unsure of why I asked.
“And this? These green things? You want to tell me those are trees?”
“Uhm…yes, those are trees.”
“And many trees make a forest, do they?”
Even as I said those words the fury of my Varian heritage fuelled an ever greater fire in my heart. The lessons of pragmatism and patience taught by the Steelspeakers were like a whisper in a storm. My mind was cluttered. Only anger reigned.
“Yes?”
“Is that a question, demon, or is it an answer?”
“What do you want from me?” Godfrey suddenly cried out.
He sounded desperate so I stopped myself from yelling further questions. I took a deep breath and steadied myself.
“Swear you’re not a demon, Godfrey.”
“I swear, for the love of Helma, I swear on me wife! I’m just a fisherman! And not a good one either!”
Perhaps the wicked wyrmtongue of dungeon folk still managed to take root in my Varian mind, or perhaps the man spoke true. In any case, I took pity on the man, and fearing the wrath of Kold, I spoke in softer words.
“Have I distraught you, Godfrey?” The man seemed taken aback by the sudden change of tone. “You seem distraught. Have I offended you?”
“Have you… You’ve tried to strangle me!”
“That is true,” I admitted bowing my head in disgrace.
Godfrey’s piss glittered on my large bronze feet, but I cared little. Other thoughts roiled within my mind. Each was more pressing than the next. But first, I had to acknowledge my wrongdoings.
“For this, I apologize, Godfrey. I have woken into a nightmare and my mind is a boiling volcano. I wish to fight and bleed so I may use this anger for good, but I don’t even know where to begin…”
My words trailed off against the surf. For a moment I was lost in the vastness of the waters. Tartarus had its baths and pools. The great fountain at the Square of Iron certainly had its appeal, but this? The paintings could never do it justice.
I noticed I was shaking slightly as goosebumps covered my bronze skin. The books of the Domain of History claimed the sun to to be a god, the eye of a god, the maker and unmaker but in every description, they claimed it was made of fire and light. How then was this world so cold?
I noticed Godfrey eyeing me warily. If he truly was no demon and I had woken to another life, what would such a creature think of me? My first impulse was murder, my second impulse was murder once again, then insults and threats…He must be scared for life.
The fisherman pulled out a pipe and then stuffed it with dried leaves from the pouch hanging off his hip.
“Forget about it,” Godfrey said waving his hand. “I’m still alive, so there’s that.”
“I never will.”
“Wha—”
“How do I return to Hell, Godfrey?” I blurted out catching the man by surprise.
Godfrey’s mouth hung open for a while as he thought about it for a moment.
“Well, they say if you do bad things, ye know? Like… umm…stealin’ a bag of potatoes can get you straight down there or so the priests say at least. I don’t know much about heaven and hell, son. I just fish all day. Will that get me to heaven? I don’t know.”
“It won’t,” I said absently. “There are few good things that will let you ascend, and righteous war is one of them.”
“Well, a tad bit late for that,” Godfrey muttered.
My heart sank. The simpleton may have the tongue of a demented child but I still understood what his mangled words meant. I knew the list of deeds that got souls trapped in Hell better than anyone. Stealing was there, between murder of the innocent and treachery, sins that were out of the question. No, I needed a different way to get back home; a righteous way to Hell.
“Where is this priest you speak of? I need to talk to him.”
“He’s up there,” Godfrey said, pointing to the trees behind him. “Through the jungle and up the track to Underock Village. It’s where I am from. My wife, too, bless ‘er heart. Aye, up there.”
I eyed that large breadth of green suspiciously. The trees at the border loomed darkly above the sand, casting wicked shadows across it.
“The trees,” I said, “They are harmless.”
Godfrey wasn’t sure whether it was a question or not so he remained silent.
“They can’t hurt me,” I assured myself, rubbing my arms instinctively.
Realizing I had scrunched up like a frightful child, I quickly opened my chest and put my hands on my hips. It was unbecoming to be any other way for a Shieldfather. I could feel the shakes but decided against shaking. I would not be defeated by the weather.
“I will depart then, Godfrey. Demon or not, you’ve been helpful, so thank you.”
Just as I turned away, Godfrey spoke in hurried words.
“Sir… Shieldmaster, sir. I need to tell you—”
“Shieldfather, not master.”
“Yes, yes… you can’t… uhm… you’re not clothed, sir.”
I looked down at my naked body and then back up at Godfrey with a quizzical look.
“I see no reason not to walk naked when my armor isn’t needed. The body of a Shieldfather is the manifestation of the Bastion’s bottomless power. It isn’t until war chimes its glorious bells that I reach for my shield, sword, and armor. Then, when the day of blood is done, I return them to the smiths where their iron hands heal the wounds left by demonic fangs.”
“Oh boy, you are quite something.”
“A Shieldafther inspires awe, I know.”
“Yes, but…son, we cover our bodies here, you see? It’s a custom.”
“Are you certain, old man? Come, look at me again. Do you see how the sunlight reflects off my bronze chest? How every muscle in my body gleams like gold? Look at my manhood. It is plentiful in length and girth.”
I stepped closer so Godfrey would see better, but the old man only briefly scanned me and then seemed flustered. Red had gathered in his cheeks, and he quickly looked away.
“Son, wherever you came from, that’s not good.”
“Not good!” I roared.
“No, it’s… umm, it’s great, just it’s not nice to show it to people like that.”
“If it’s great, why not?” Was this man mad? “The people of Tartarus would cheer and sing songs to our manhoods and you? You look away in disgust! You want me to cover it? Why? Is it because I feel the cold and it’s not as you imagined? I promise you, as soon as I warm up, it will—”
“Don’t warm it up!” Godrey yelled out in panic. “It’s fine. It’s great, but please just trust me as a favor for almost killing me. People in the village… and the priest! No, you can’t go to the village like that.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine? You won’t?”
“No, I will heed your advice. Now give me clothes and I’ll be on my way.”
Godfrey breathed out a defeated sigh.
“I don’t have any, but—”
“Then I will be on my way. Farewell, Godfrey the fisher. May you find a good war to die in.”
“But! Please, hear me out!” Godfrey pleaded.
I turned around and offered him an exhausted no. Godfrey quickly continued.
“See, over there,” the old man pointed south along the sandy beach. “Some way down there is a little alcove with large rocks. It’s swarming with crabs, it is. They’re givin’ ol’ Godfrey mighty troubles, you see? Now, if you were a good fellow, ye’d go down there, kill me a dozen of them buggers and ye know what? Ye’d might loot a couple of shells, and maybe even some pants or a leaf, anything, ye know?”
“The crabs have pants?”
“No…well, yes. It’s…Sometimes they have all sorta’ things in those bellies of thems. But best of all, see, ye’d get yourself some experience and maybe even a level or two, huh? Sounds good, son?”
I glanced at the top right corner of my vision again and suddenly felt my stomach churn. For a moment, I’d forgotten about my predicament. Out of all the deaths I could have suffered triumphantly, mine was that of a man lost and powerless. Would they still erect a statue in Tartarus in my name? Or will the Varian cast me as a coward who escaped the Bulwark?
“I can’t return like this,” I muttered eyeing the spot along the beach that the fisherman had pointed to. Godfrey offered no words of wisdom to my troubled mind. How could he?
“Even if I find a way home, what use am I to my brothers?” I said in a half-whisper. Was this what defeat felt like?
Another breeze washed over us shaking my bones and infuriating me further. Was I on my knees, bleeding and recounting my service to the Steel Bastion?
“Not yet, Hell. I still stand.” I told the wind and the sea.
I clenched my fists hard and narrowed my gaze upon the alcove. If it was killing that needed to be done, I would kill however many I needed.
Suddenly and without warning, letters popped up in my Soulforge and I swiped at them instinctively, then looked to Godfrey.
“What cursed magic is this!” I barked and Godfrey took three steps back, raising his hands above his head.
“Just…just read it, I swear on me wife.”
QUEST: Crustacean Annihilation
DESCRIPTION: Kill 12x Crabs at the Crab Beach.
REWARD: 20 XP
ACCEPT?
YES/NO
“What demon magic have you wrought upon me, Godfrey?”
“It’s a quest, Shieldfather. Ye know? Quests? Ye go out adventurin’, doin’ odd jobs for this or that fellow, seeing the land, opening chests, lootin’ them swords and whatnot.”
“Adventuring…” I said dismissively and waved the fisherman off. “A Shieldfather doesn’t adventure, a Shieldfather doesn’t quest. He plants his feet on the ground as the Demon Tide crawls and skitters, as the spiderqueens screech and the dreadsingers wail, stampeding towards the Steel Bastion like a wave of malignant death. There he raises his shield and thrusts his sword, beheading the darkness ever approaching.”
“Well…” Godfrey said, seemingly lost for a moment. “For now, can ye kill a couple of crabs?”
“Fine,” I said.
“Yes?”
The fisherman’s face lit up.
“I will do this for you, Godfrey,” I promised firmly.
Godfrey hurriedly explained how to accept my quest, probably fearing I would have a change of heart. Why he couldn’t simply believe my words was beyond me. He told me I could loot the creatures once I brought justice upon them then spoke of great rewards I found little comfort in. What rewards would crabs offer that I hadn’t seen in Tartarus? An absurd thought I refused to acknowledge other than by offering the fisherman an assuring nod.
For now, however, I would help Godfrey. Not just because I needed the experience, but because I felt I wronged the old man. Though I apologized, a sense of shame lingered still. That was not the way of a Shieldfather. A stained heart, steel or not, would rust and whither, the Steelspeakers said, and that would not do.
For now, I would help him and then find my way back to Tartarus and the Steel Bastion. It couldn’t be that difficult and I certainly didn’t lack the confidence. A Shieldfather must not ruminate, I reminded myself. I would find my way back to Hell even if I had to kill every crab in this bright, cold world.